


The Dragonborn's Sellsword

by pierceplotholes



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I havent read any of these chapters in ages so if theres mistakes lmk, I wrote this from 2015 to early 2018 but then Life happened and my muse shifted, Multi, Slow Burn, but if you beg me to finish it I WILL delete your comment dont try me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierceplotholes/pseuds/pierceplotholes
Summary: Finja the Dragonborn likes to travel with companions, and picks up Teldryn Sero on a whim. She thinks his whining is endearing and he thinks she's trying to get them both killed, but neither can deny they make an impressive team.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Teldryn Sero. 

Finja had heard his name before, often times from his own mouth, but never paid him mind. Chitin armor blending in with the lantern light and the smooth wall, even the words he spoke seemed nothing more than background noise to the chatter in the cornerclub. The one time she did listen she wasn't in the market for a new follower, and the boastful tone laced into that odd Dunmer accent grated her nerves. 

When Delvin got word that someone named Sero had acquired a rather nice gem that needed lifting, she couldn't remember where she knew the name. Even Glover found it humorous that in all the time Finja had spent in Raven Rock, not once had she bothered to take a second glance at the mercenary in the corner of the Retching Netch. 

The little gem he'd showed one too many chatty miners was gone before he even noticed her. And gone, too, was she before he could call out his usual pitch. 

A few short days later, as she could never stay away from the dusty settlement too long, the Breton found herself in the Retching Netch again. Chatting up Geldis, as usual, and paying for the drinks of anyone willing to accept. Truthfully, she was rolling in septims, and figured the few she spent on sujamma did more good for the townspeople than they were worth to her. As with the last time she was here, though not for the same nefarious reasons, she did not have one of her two favored compatriots with her. 

Finja overheard someone mention the sellsword upstairs and the rumors circulating around him. Her interest was piqued, naturally, as she'd only recently noticed his very presence. She excused herself from the bar and moved to a seat near the chatting sailors, listening curiously. 

"I heard his face is horribly disfigured, and he wears the helmet to hide it."

"He spent time in Skyrim, maybe he's wanted and hides out here. But for what?"

Their voices dropped low. 

"Arson, if what I heard about his magic is true."

"Probably. You know how the Dark Elves are with fire."

The Breton's eyebrows shot up. Destruction magic, huh? She'd never considered a (relatively cheap) hireling to be much more than a brute with a sword to swing around, but this one showed promise. Without thinking much on it, she found herself walking up the steps to find him. 

Teldryn Sero was alone in the foyer, occupying his usual seat, and his helmet was off. She froze in place at the top of the stairs. 

If asked five steps ago what she believed the Dunmer to look like, she would have assumed a rather generic appearance. Gray skin, red eyes, head of black or red hair. Maybe the rarer black eyes if she was feeling optimistic. 

She stared at him as he rubbed ash off the helmet in his lap. Gray skin, yes, red eyes, yes. But his black hair was shaved on the sides, leaving an attention-grabbing Mohawk, and starting from the ridges of his elven brow was a pair of dark tattoos that trailed down his cheek and disappeared under the red scarf that covered his face and neck. She stared, not out of attraction, but the sheer surprise that she had glazed over so much _personality._

She was shaken from her trance when the helmet was replaced. 

With a practiced air of nonchalance, she walked up the last few steps and strode over to him. It was only when she stood in front of him, arms crossed, and an appraising look on her face, that she became aware of how unnerving the beady goggle-eyes of his helmet were. Her expression remained constant, however, even as she felt his attention on her. He leaned forward in his chair, aged leather and metal clasps creaking softly, his body language confident and... playful. 

"Teldryn Sero, blade for hire. If you have the coin, I'm at your service."

She hummed a little, sweeping her eyes over his armor. Finja had seen the style all over Solstheim, hanging limply off the frames of bandits -or reavers as they were known locally- and clearly cobbled together from differing sets. But his seemed... put together. And fit to the body shape she could estimate under the chitin layers. A good sign, yes, but she wondered how it held up to her own glass armor. 

"I heard you use magic." 

At this, Teldryn Sero leaned even farther forward in his chair, looking almost conspiratorial. 

"I've got swords, spells, and a few other tricks up my sleeve. You'll find I'm full of surprises. Don't pass up this opportunity, outlander. I'm worth every coin."

Finja let herself grin a bit. She didn't know how much she wanted a follower with spunk until she found one. Lydia and Farkas, as much as she adored them, were not much for conversation. She had a feeling this guy would be just as talkative on the road.

She let out an exaggerated sigh. 

"How much?" 

She wished she could see the look on his face. Surprise? Smug confidence? Stoic calm?

500 septims. That was the average starting cost for a hireling in Skyrim. Maybe he really _had_ spent time there. She pulled out a few neat coin rolls and tossed them to him. The new follower earned a snort when he quickly checked the count, but was on his feet shortly after. 

"Let's be off!" he said, a twinge of excitement in his voice. Finja wondered how long he'd been in that chair. 

"When's the last time someone hired you?"

"You want to hear about my last patron?" He sounded faintly surprised. As odd as it was that she couldn't see his face, the Dunmer's voice was plenty expressive. A wave of her hand told him to go ahead, and he did just that. 

"Long story, but I don't see the harm in sharing it with you..."

Finja grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

The woman is insane. 

There was no other way to put it. Teldryn should've known when the dramatic tale of his bloodlust-driven patron brought only a guilty smile to her thin lips, or from the look she gave his _rather expensive_ chitin getup. But what had tipped him off was something that happened during his "test run" or so she had called it. 

The headcase had nearly _shot_ him. Maybe it was _kind of_ his fault, having stepped too close to the line of fire, but she had definitely loosed that arrow after he had moved first. The Breton woman had apologized profusely after dispatching of the last conjurer, earnest concern behind her usually airy gaze, and it had been enough to convince him to collect the spoils of their work. Pocket heavy with the gratitude of an uneasy steward and fried nerves calmed from the rather uneventful trek to and from Solitude, he allowed her small blunder to slip from his mind. 

And now here he stood, just within the doors of the woman's mansion while she dug around her cluttered storage room and swore under her breath. 

"Nice place you have here. I never knew you were so wealthy, Finja."

She snorted, not looking up from the cluttered pile of mismatched armor she had jammed into a chest. 

"Why do you think I let you have so much of the reward gold?"

"Reparations for nearly killing me?"

She took a moment to respond, tugging a gauntlet out from the bottom of the chest, and dumping a full armor set into Teldryn's arms. 

"These are the reparations I had in mind."

It was _glass_ armor. On top of that, the very chest piece that she herself had been wearing until they stepped into her house. She grinned at him expectantly, a playful glint in her gray eyes. 

"Go on. Put it on. Can't have my follower wear anything but the best I have to offer!"

Part of him wanted to refuse. He was rather attached to his chitin armor. It was comfortably broken in to the shape of his body and had saved his life on more than one occasion. But who was he to refuse better, more expensive equipment? 

With a long sigh, he started on the clasps that held the chitin plates to the leather underneath and pulled off his helmet in the process. His patron raised an eyebrow as she watched him remove his signature outfit, giving her a brief glimpse at thin underclothes and a scarred body before it disappeared under the spoils of a bandit camp she'd cleared a few days before. 

He'd taken a moment to adjust the various straps before fitting the chitin helmet back on his head and the dusty scarf that covered the lower half of his face. 

"I gave you a helmet, too."

Teldryn shook his head. Open face helmets, for reasons that are his own, were not his gig. 

The woman shrugged and turned to retrieve a dusty set of elven armor for herself, pulling it on with a practiced ease. 

"Ready to head out again? I have a good feeling about us."

"Lead on!"


	3. Chapter 3

Teldryn huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and perched uncomfortably on a rock. The glass armor he'd been wearing for a while now chafed, despite the thicker underclothes he'd invested in, and Finja had told him to stay as silent as possible. So he did. On this rock. 

She was just around the corner firing arrows at the bandits below. Black hair stuffed into a helmet and away from her face, crouched low near the edge of the platform, the poor bastards had no chance. She had this habit of staying still enough to blend with her surroundings and her aim was, while not perfect, rather remarkable. Teldryn had been impressed on a few of the early raids they performed, but he'd quickly learned that she preferred shadows and her bow to the ebony war axe strapped to her side. Which means he spent a good few minutes watching and waiting. 

He dared to wish someone would see Finja and lived long enough to tell their comrades. His sword arm itched for action. 

Teldryn heard a soft crunch of rocks underfoot, and turned to see his patron creep back towards him, a big grin on her face. With those black boots of hers, which looked odd against the flashy elven armor, he may not have heard her approach if he hadn't been expecting it. 

"Wanna get in on the action?" Finja asked, putting her bow back in place and fingering the ebony axe. 

Teldryn practically lept from his seat in anticipation. 

"About time. Let's go!"

Finja snickered and readjusted the shield on her arm, leading him down the narrow path to the bandit encampment below. She didn't mask her steps, even went so far as to kick a rock. It would likely get the attention of most, if not all, of the cave's occupants. Teldryn wasn't entirely certain she could handle them all with her limited skill with blades, but he supposed that was why he was here. As if reading his mind, she gave a quick:

"I've been meaning to work on my one-handed. Lucky you."

The unchecked volume of the Breton's voice bounced around on the sheer cave walls, and called the attention of nearly everyone in the vicinity. 

"Did you hear that?"

"Where is that bastard?"

He followed Finja around a corner, and it opened up to the water-logged cavern she'd been launching arrows into. They drew their twin axes as the bandits swarmed around them. 

Teldryn eyed their surroundings as much as he could within the narrow field of view his helmet and goggles allowed. A scattering of tents and their campfires, a draft from the hole in the ceiling that provided minimal light, and about a dozen men and women in malfitting armor standing among the dead strewn at their feet.

One of the bandits jumped forward, going for the smaller Breton. With a side step and a powerful bash from her enchanted shield, she sent him sprawling. He barely had time to recover before she sunk the axe into his neck with a powerful swing of her arm. 

This only further enraged the other bandits, and soon Teldryn had his hands full. Some blundering idiot came at him with a warhammer too big to wield, and was quickly disposed of, and a scarred woman jumped into his place, swinging her sword and narrowly missing his chest. 

He dodged her next few swings, trying to maneuver out of her reach. Winded, the thug's next swing took a moment longer, and he used the opportunity to aim a blast of fire at her face. She jerked back, and the Dunmer followed her with a vicious slash. 

There was a roar of noise, and he dared a glance across the room where his patron was shouting a column of flame at a cluster of unfortunate bandits. She laughed gleefully as the few left standing ran off to collect themselves. 

The sellsword summoned his atronach, and it raced to pick off the runners, leaving only one to decide which kind of fiery death he preferred. The bandit made a move for Teldryn, but was cut off by Finja practically jumping in front of him. Her face dropped to a serious expression, flushed from exertion and beaded with sweat. The clearly exhausted woman raised her shield and axe, steadying her breathing and giving the bandit a challenging look. 

Teldryn gave the cavern one last sweep of his gaze before inching forward to watch his reckless patron. 

The man was still nervous about the use of Thu'um, but raised his sword nonetheless. There was a brief moment where they both stood still. 

Without notice, Finja jerked forward, aiming her shield for the face of the large Nord. Not willing to fall the same way as the woman's first victim, he jumped back before it made contact. She grunted a noise of annoyance and swung her axe ungracefully at her opponent, who dodged once more. He returned with a quick jab, testing her ability to dodge. It made contact with her elven armor, knocking her back, and brought a scowl to the Breton's face. 

"Damn you!" She howled, heaving her breath and digging her heels into the dirt. Sinking down to a near crouch, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a piercing glare. She took a step forward, shield raised and body sunk low for maximum coverage. She took another step, flexing her axe-wielding hand and tensed. The bandit moved back a bit, suddenly nervous about her approach. 

The third step was harsh, tearing at the ground and launching her towards the bandit. With a cry of exertion, she swung her axe and tore through the paltry hide armor and deep into the torso of the man before her. They tumbled to the ground, and only the Breton got back up. 

Teldryn stood just out of reach, arms crossed to the best of his ability with the bulky glass gauntlets, and watched her shuffle back over to him with a grin. 

"That was fun." She heaved, breath coming out ragged as she slid her axe into it's place on her belt. 

Teldryn uncrossed his arms and dragged his gaze pointedly along his patron's blood-soaked armor. He suspected his wasn't much better, but he didn't have to look at himself if he didn't want to. However, he was paid to watch her back, and dripping in filth was not how he wished to view her. 

"I suggest finding a place to clean up."

Finja nodded, slowing her breathing and looking around the cave. 

"Looks like all this water is the result of some kind of stream." she noted, following the bandit's encampment farther into the cave. 

Sure enough, at the back of the cave was a large pool of cold water, trickling in from a crevice in the rock above. Finja wasn't apparently the bashful type, and had no qualms with stripping to her underclothes. They washed the blood off their armor and weapons slowly, weary after their fight. 

“You should be more cautious, boss.” Teldryn started, glancing over at the tear in his patron’s armor and bloodied side. 

“I wouldn't put money on me carrying your corpse home if you got yourself killed.”

Finja laughed. 

“Now I feel silly, I was just thinking of asking you what you’d want done with your body. Fortunately for you, I can't die yet.”

“Burn it.” he said simply, “And of course you can die, Breton.”

“No really, I can't. I'll bleed out and everything will go black, but I always wake up and have to crawl out of the place half dead. Either I pull together enough magicka to heal myself or someone finds me and drags me back to a town.” she took in what little of Teldryn’s expression she could see around the scarf. “I can't die until I face off with Alduin.”

He didn't seem to have a response to that, busying himself instead with putting his borrowed armor on. Finja followed suit, running her fingers over the new hole in the side with a scowl. 

“I’ll have to go get this patched up. Don’t think I can do it myself.”

She looked over at Teldryn, who had put his helmet back on. 

“Let’s grab anything worth something so I can dump some coin in your hands. Sound good?”

“That sounds  _ very  _ good.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jokes, tired laughter, uncautioned steps. Too close to the edge and the ground gives out. 

A cry, reaction delayed, not fast enough. All too fitting for there to be a second victim. 

Whatever deity, be it Aedra or Daedra, that watched over her guided the fall. A scream drowned in rushing water. 

Teldryn’s feet slipped on loose gravel as he ran, ran as fast as he could because  _ dammit _ he wasn't losing a patron as generous as her to something so stupid as falling off a cliff. The winding path towards the water seemed to stretch on and the only sound he heard was his own scratchy breathing. 

The sellsword ripped off his clunky gauntlets when he got to the water, and scoured the surface for his patron’s elven armor. The torrent had pushed her against against a boulder near the shore and he waded out into the frigid river. Finja didn't respond when he grabbed her. It gave him a rather unpleasant sense of dread as he pulled her limp body to the shore. 

He mumbled prayers to the Three, something he hadn't done in ages, and slid to the floor of the muddy bank. His patron’s helmet had slipped off mid-fall so it was unlikely she broke her neck. With any luck, hitting the water only knocked her unconscious. Slipping a finger to her throat, his theory was confirmed. He patted her face stiffly, and huffed out a sigh. 

Unwinding his arm from her waist, Teldryn pulled off his helmet and damp scarf. He grimaced at the water trapped in his boots and glanced down at his patron. She opened her eyes and met his with a look of confusion. 

“Your helmet is off.” 

“That's the first thing you say?” Teldryn gave her an amused look, “Not ‘what happened?’, ‘where am I’, or even ‘thank you for fishing me out of the river’?”

“Seeing your face is stranger than waking up on the riverbank, honestly.”

He barked out a laugh and pushed her off his lap to stand. After giving his disoriented patron a hand up, he recovered his gauntlets. They both retrieved their helmets, Finja fishing hers out of the water, and started for the exit. 

“Wait, don't put it back on!” she whined, watching him pull his chitin helm back on. 

“Too late!” 

The Dragonborn rolled her eyes.

“It's ridiculous that in the- what… two or three weeks? that I've been paying you, I could count the times I've seen your face on one hand. Honestly, Teldryn, there's a reason why people assume you're disfigured!”

“With how upset you are, one might think you've come to fancy me, dear patron. Don't you know you're not to fraternize with your employees?’

Finja laughed. 

“I've never heard such a thing. Aren't you mercenary types supposed to be without care for rules and thoughts of causality?”

“How little you think of me, Finja. I need to be free to leave you at any point! Getting involved with a patron can cause conflicts of interest.”

“Nice to know how fickle your loyalty is.” 

Finja pulled her hireling up a particularly steep ledge and out of the ruin, a grin on her face. 

“Have no worries,  _ sera _ , I have no plans on seducing you away from your freedom.”

“You should be more concerned about falling desperately in love with me. It's a common problem for my patrons. That, and lack of hygiene.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Damn you and your youthful stamina!” Teldryn complained, trailing a few feet behind the Breton, bent over with the weight of his travelling pack, and his feet scuffing the ground noisily. Finja rolled her eyes. 

“We’re almost there, you whiney old man. Look, you can see them lighting the fires around Dragonsreach!” 

“ _ Please _ , tell me you own a house here too. One with a comfortable bed. Or a comfortable chair, I'm not picky.”

Finja scoffed. 

“Not picky, my ass. Yes, I own a house in Whiterun, but the only empty bed is kid sized so you're going to have to share mine. That good enough for you, your highness?”

Teldryn was too distracted by this piece of knowledge to walk with such a loud fuss. 

“Why do you have a child bed in your house?”

“Oh, did I never mention my daughter? Apparently when I asked for the room they thought I wanted two beds when I only wanted the one, so-”

He was shocked. Teldryn had seen a fair amount of Finja in their few months of travel, and he couldn't imagine she’d given birth. Certainly she was old enough, humans and their virility, but most women gained weight and their hips-

“-I actually bought the place just so she could move in. Real cute, calls me ‘Mama’. I gave her an elven dagger as a birthday present.”

Adopted. That explained it. 

“You gave a small child a dagger?”

“Lucia’s not  _ that  _ small, she’s 11. The Nord children are all picking up swords by her age, anyways.”

Teldryn shook his head in disbelief, and let out a relieved groan when they finally reached the gates to the city. The guards opened the gate the second they saw their Thane, and let her and her hireling pass. 

“It's just to the right. You can dump your bag by the door, I don't mind, but take off your shoes. Lydia gets upset when I track mud over the rugs.”

Teldryn followed her obediently into the house, and was assaulted by warmth when the door opened. 

“Mama!” 

The door clicked shut behind them and a yellow blur tackled his hireling. 

“Hello, little one,” she cooed, and Teldryn was surprised how natural it sounded coming from his patron. As the two caught up, he followed the orders he’d been given: dropped his bag off to the side and pulled his clunky glass boots off. 

“You must be Teldryn.” 

He looked up and found the steady gaze of a vaguely familiar Nord woman. 

“Indeed I am. And you must be Lydia, Finja’s previous travelling partner.” 

The Housecarl held her hand out to him, and he shook it. Her grip was strong and he felt the warning in it. Hurt the Thane or her daughter, and he was dead. No bother, the only thing he threatened was the pleasant smell or the food stores. 

“Teldryn, take off your helmet, please?” Finja posed it as a request, but he knew a command when he heard it. The Dunmer sighed and pulled off his scarf and helmet. Finja looked much too pleased with herself, but his attention was stolen by the little Imperial girl. Lucia’s eyes were big, staring at him with obvious awe. 

“Don't stare, Lucia, it's rude.”

“Sorry, Mama!” she replied, but her dropped gaze only lasted a moment before going right back to staring at him. 

“Have you never seen a Dunmer before, child?” he asked smoothly, ignoring the discomfort he felt not wearing his helmet. She squinted, searching. 

“You're like Athis.” she said, with an air of finality. He quirked a brow. 

“But he has red hair. And white tattoos.”

Well, that certainly sounded Dunmer-esque.

“My Thane, would you like me to make dinner?” 

“Yes, please,” Finja sighed, and went to work peeling off her elven armor. Lucia, already bored of her revelation, went off to her room to find her doll. When Finja struggled with the strap by her shoulder, Teldryn surprised himself by stepping forward to help her out, something he’d never done without prompt before.

She looked exhausted when it was finally free, and Teldryn found himself putting the armor away for her, lulled into a strange sense of comfort by the presence of Finja’s little family. He pulled off his own borrowed armor and dropped it next to hers. The dragonborn led them to a pair of chairs by the fire, and they collapsed into them. Teldryn sighed, finally off of his feet. 

“Do you mind if I take my socks off?” 

“Go ahead.”

He peeled them off and stuck his feet on the edge of the hearth. Finja stifled a laugh and he looked over at her, curious. 

“Sorry, you just look ridiculous. Your hair is a mess, you're down to underclothes, and you've got your poor calloused toes jammed into my fire.” Barely contained laughter marked her features, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers through his mohawk. 

“Shut it, Finja.” he drawled, too comfortable to muster up real irritation. “Don't get me started on  _ your _ hair, or the state of  _ your _ dress. You would have your toes right here with mine if they wouldn't burn.”

“Show off.”

“ _ Dunmer _ . With aching feet. I've been walking on these things for over two centuries, they need breaks once in a whi-”

He caught sight of Finja’s expression. It seemed to be her turn for a shock. 

“You're joking.”

“About my age?”

She nodded. He shook his head. She gasped. 

“By the  _ gods _ , you really are that old?”

“I'm not old! I'm middle age-”

Lydia stepped forward, bearing bowls of hot soup and effectively destroying his rebuttal. She passed a bowl to each of them and then went to give Lucia hers. It was a chunky potato stew. Their bickering stopped altogether in favor of the food in front of them. It had been a long trip from Markarth, and Finja insisted on stopping only for rest and eating their dried travel snacks, so they were famished. The ingredients were fresh, and the flavors so much better than bland salted jerky. 

The soup was delicious, his feet recovering, and suddenly Teldryn was feeling spoiled. 

“We smell terrible.”

Ah, way to ruin the moment, Dragonborn. 

“Indeed we do.” he polished off his food and stretched, the flames all but licking his toes. Finja watched him subtly from the corner of her eye.

“Like what you see, boss?”

She turned her head fully and snorted. 

“I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that you're older than my great-grandparents. You don't look bad for someone so ancient.”

“Did you not hear me?  _ Middle aged. _ Honestly, you hang around that Telvanni Councilor!  _ He  _ is old.  _ I  _ am not.”

Finja laughed at him all through his rant.

“You’re right. You look like you’re in your mid forties.” she grinned at him, “Which would still make you 10 years older than me.”

Teldryn rolled his eyes and settled back comfortably in the chair, feet perilously close to the crackling fire. They fell into an easy silence, exhausted and safe in the little home. It threatened to put him to sleep, that comfort and the stew warming his gut. Finja was blinking heavily as well, up until her adoptive child wandered back into the room, doll in hand.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, Mama?” she asked softly. 

“Sorry, little one, but Teldryn’s going to be in bed with me. Maybe next time, alright?”

Lucia pouted and got a kiss from her mother. 

“Come, let’s tuck you in. I’ll take you to the market tomorrow.”

The little girl smiled and nodded, and then followed Finja into the children’s bedroom to the side. Teldryn watched blearily from his seat, and didn’t notice when he nodded off.

  
  


The shake of his shoulder woke him up.

“Hey, c’mon Teldryn, you’re sleeping with me.” 

“In your dreams, Finja,” he slurred, and let her pull him up, an impressive feat considering his bulk. 

“Ah, sex jokes. I’m glad to see even half asleep your wit is as sharp as ever” the dragonborn jabbed, and he gave her a half-hearted shove. 

“I’m taking a bath first thing in the morning,” Teldryn declared, “Ah, you  _ do _ have a bath, yes?”

“There's a wooden tub in my bedroom. You're welcome to it.” 

She led him up the stairs to her room, and stripped off her underclothes without shame, giving Teldryn a glimpse of her smalls and motley of scars. It wasn't the first time she’d done this. Nor the second or third. But it surprised him every time. Must be the dregs of his upbringing. 

“Are you always this shameless around your followers?” he asked, turning away as she pulled a large sleep shirt over her head. 

“My previous two were Nords. They aren't afraid of a little skin. So, yes, I am always this shameless.”

Satisfied with the answer, Teldryn pulled off his own shirt and dropped himself onto his patron’s bed. He supposed he should be more ceremonious about sharing a bed with his employer, a young woman at that, but he was tired and they’d shared close quarters before. Besides, she showed no discontent as she crawled next to -and wrenched a fur from under- him with a muttered “bed hog”. He folded his arms over his chest and yawned widely as she curled up under the pelt. 

“‘Night, Teldryn.”

“Good night, Finja.”

________

  
  


Finja woke up with the sound of soft snoring and warmth pressed to her cheek. Blinking groggily, she was greeted with scarred gray skin, and upon following it up, the sleeping face of her hireling. Elated, she studied his face at will, having been given so few opportunities to do so before. She’d been distracted by food the night before, and had little opportunity to look closely. At some point during her sleep, she had rested her face on his shoulder, and it now gave her a close up view of his visage with a reasonable excuse for the proximity. 

Gods, she wished he’d stop wearing his stupid helmet. As much as they joked about it, she was becoming rather attached to Teldryn, and wished more than anything she could see his expressions when he talked. The bastard sometimes even wore the ugly chitin thing  _ to sleep _ , saying it kept his ears warm. She followed the purple tattoos down his scruffy chin and felt a bubbling irritation that she so rarely saw his mouth move as he talked. Sometimes when he  _ did _ take his helmet off, she could hardly believe that his voice and his face were a part of the same person. 

Finja cursed herself for becoming attached to the sellsword. He was shamelessly disloyal and, as she found out the night before,  _ significantly  _ older than her. It would be best to stamp out the sparks of interest before they caught the charcoal that was her romantic side. 

The flicker of his eyelids stopped her from pondering the subject more, as she had to feign sleep. She heard him take in a breath and the bed shift as he arched his back in a stretch. Finja did her best not to imagine it. Then, to her surprise, Teldryn carefully shifted her off of his shoulder and crawled out of bed. He did so slowly, as if to not wake her up. It was… unexpectedly considerate of him. 

The sound of her bedroom door creaking open freed the Dragonborn to sit up. She stretched leisurely and made to climb out of bed when Teldryn’s reappearance stopped her. 

“Oh, good, you're awake. Do you mind if I bathe first?”

He must have gone downstairs to rifle through his bag, for he held a clean set of underclothes and a bar of soap. Finja waved at the tub in the corner of her room invitingly. 

“Have at it. There's a pump and a bucket behind the house if you don't have the magicka to spare for melting ice spells.”

She stood to give him some privacy, closing the door on her way out. The sound of ice crackled behind her as she combed back her tangled hair and head downstairs. 

Lucia was already awake when she reached the bottom step, and Finja was immediately latched onto. 

“Good morning, little one,” she chuckled, and managed to wobble into the kitchen with the girl clung to her waist. 

“Make breakfast with me?”

“I’d love to! What do you want to make?”

“Muffins!” 

Finja smiled and dug through her cupboards. 

“We should have everything we need already here…” she pulled out a motley of ingredients and the beaten up cookbook she’d bought used at Belethor’s, and placed them on the table for her daughter to reach. 

“Good morning, my Thane.” 

Finja turned to Lydia, who looked wide awake and slightly damp. The Imperial girl started measuring flour while her mother was distracted. 

“Good morning, dear Lydia! How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. I washed your and your companion’s armor. It's drying in the corner there, by the hearth.”

Finja stopped a moment to break eggs, before turning back to her Housecarl. 

“Did you? Thanks. I'm sure Teldryn will be grateful as well, he’s a bit hyper conscious about hygiene.”

Lydia nodded and busied herself with stoking the hearth. 

“Careful, little one, don't slop it out of the bowl.” Finja chuckled and helped scrape up the spilled batter into the muffin tray. Within a few short minutes, the muffins were left to bake. 

The dragonborn heard Teldryn coming down the stairs, and turned to look at him. He gave her a nod and dropped down into the same chair he’d occupied the night before, running fingers through his wet hair. 

Taking only a moment to appreciate the smell of his (probably expensive) soap, she immediately went to claim the empty tub. 

__________

Teldryn’s ease was short lived, as he quickly realized he was left alone with his patron’s child and bodyguard. He wasn't one to worry about social expectations, but he also had no intent of bothering the Breton’s family. It didn't help that Lucia caught on to the fact that he was clearly the most interesting thing in the room. 

“Why do you follow my mama?” she asked, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. “Are you a Companion, too?”

Teldryn leveled his gaze to the girl. 

“I'm a sellsword. Fi- Your mother pays me to follow and fight alongside her.”

“Is that your sword?” She pointed to the ebony blade rested against the wall. 

“Your mother lent it to me, yes.”

The little Imperial’s eyes lit up. 

“I've always wanted to swordfight. If I get good enough, I could join the Companions like Ria. Then Braith would be too scared to be mean to me!” 

Teldryn chuckled at that. 

“You've got ambition, I see. You should watch them train and mimic their movements.”

Lucia looked like her world had been changed. 

“Talk to Ria.” Lydia chimed in, “The Thane is friends with her, and I'm sure she can relate.”

The young girl grinned widely at him and he squirmed in his seat. Teldryn didn't know how to act around children, and this one kept looking at him expectantly. He was saved by the smell emanating from the kitchen, which had Lucia bolting away from him. Thank the Three...

In the following silence, he noticed Lydia’s eyes would flick between him and the swords she polished. Teldryn leaned against the armrest and raised an eyebrow at the housecarl. 

“Have something to say?” he drawled. The woman sat upright to look down at him. Even when they were sitting, she had a couple inches on him. 

“I do not understand why my Thane would travel with a hired sword rather than myself or one of her Shield-Siblings. We are skilled warriors, loyal, and don't ask for coin at the end of the day.”

Teldryn pondered that for a second. 

“Maybe she has a taste for elves.” he joked, giving Lydia a grin. The Nord rolled her eyes. 

“My Thane had to command you to remove your helmet.”

“So you noticed. Maybe it's the  _ lack _ of loyalty? Finja gets a kick out of my backtalk and constant complaints. You should try it.”

Lydia didn't look convinced. 

“I’m serious. She’ll  _ act  _ annoyed, but I can see the little smirk. She thinks I'm hilarious.”

“I think  _ hilarious _ is giving yourself too much credit. How do you know I'm not laughing at your suffering?” 

Teldryn turned to see his patron walking down the stairs, hair dripping and changed into a faded blue dress. Even her face paint was gone. 

“Look at you all cleaned up, boss.” Teldryn said, “I must admit, I expected higher class wear for ya, though.” 

Finja groaned and went to check on her daughter and their muffins.

“Have you  _ seen _ the high class fashion around here? I've seen a lot of styles in my time, and Skyrim’s wealthy have some of the most boring. I bought this thing at  _ Belethor’s _ when I first came to Skyrim and it's still my favorite.”

Teldryn shrugged. After all these years, he was still bias towards Dunmer fashion. 

Finja carefully removed the muffins from the tiny oven and the room filled with the smell. Carefully, the Breton and her daughter plucked them from their tray and left them to cool, and everyone in the room was waiting anxiously. Patience, however, didn't seem to be a common virtue, as Finja and Lucia couldn't resist taking the first bites. No mouths were burned, and the Dragonborn insisted that Lucia portion them out. 

“Do I get one?” Teldryn asked with a lazy grin, and Finja narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I dunno… What do you think?” she asked her daughter. Lucia glanced over at Teldryn and nodded, much to his relief, then walked one over to him. He took the warm muffin in hand and ruffled her hair with a grin. 

“Thanks, kid.” 

So involved was he in the muffin, that he missed the look that crossed Finja’s face. 

\-----

“I like Teldryn.”

Those three words, whispered to her like a secret, were the tipping point.

“I do to.” Finja managed, watching the back of the Dunmer’s head as he ate. As a distraction, she neatly piled anything needing washing for Lydia to take care of. 

“Are you ready to head out to the Market, Lucia?” she asked, suddenly needing to do something to keep her mind off of the emotion settling into her chest. 

The imperial girl nodded and ran to find her shoes. The sellsword perked up, and collected his armor. 

“You don't have to come if you don't want, Teldryn. It's only just outside.”

This did not stop him from pulling the cuirass over his head with an annoyed grunt. 

“If you get die while I sit in here, I'll never forgive myself.” he said, “I've never had a patron who spoils me like you do.”

Finja snorted. “I can conjure weapons, Teldryn.” 

“But not armor.” He clasped his greaves tight and slid the ebony sword into his sheath. 

“I haven't seen anybody do that since… Well the Third Era.”

Lucia rejoined them at this point, bouncing excitedly. As Finja checked over her daughter, from the corner of her eye she watched the sellsword wrap his scarf around his neck and pull over the helmet. Damn. 

She took Lucia’s hand and pushed open the door. There's no way this would end well. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Time. Time. Solstheim. Lifetime. I swear to a deity of your choosing, if I hear you say something that ends with ‘ime’ once more I will punch you.”

Teldryn laughed, as there was no real vitriol behind the Breton’s voice.

“You know I hate being back here, boss.”

“Oh, I do. You complain when I even  _ mention _ it. But I have unfinished work here. Besides, you whine about every place we go to, the effect has worn off.”

He gave that an acknowledging grunt. Couldn't argue with that. 

“You don't tend to mind. Unless, of course, I  _ rhyme _ .” 

Finja stopped dead in the middle of the road, just under the gate out of Raven Rock. Teldryn’s shit-eating grin was hidden behind his helmet, but somehow she had to know. Maybe she heard it in his voice. 

“You. Did. Not.” Even her own lips twitched the threat of a smile. 

“What are you going to do about it? Punch me?” 

Nope. She shoved him, knocking him right into some poor guard who happened to be standing nearby. Teldryn yelled as he tumbled awkwardly to the ground and landed on the Bonemold-clad schmuck beneath him. They untangled themselves, cursing the Breton, and each other. Finja was laughing her ass off behind them, watching the show. 

He managed to stand first, and the glare he shot her would have had her running scared if she could see it. Finja offered a hand to the hapless guard before returning to Teldryn, still shaking with laughter. 

“ _ Gods,  _ I wish I could have seen your face just then.” 

Teldryn briefly considered flipping her on her ass in return, but the other guard was staring him down. He shivered involuntarily and cursed the old reaction. 

“Let's get a move on.” he said under his breath, “Damn guards are lookin’ us over.”

Surprisingly, she complied, her smile fading a little. With just a little more speed than her usual gait, she walked them out into the wilds and away from town. Teldryn breathed out a sigh. 

“You have some kinda beef with the guards? I sure wouldn't care, it's not like I haven't committed my fair share of crimes, but if you have some kinda reputa-”

Without thinking, he blurted: 

“My father was a Redoran Guard.”

Finja managed to conceal her surprise at the admission, and kept walking. In their few months of travel, Teldryn had given little to no information about himself. It was a rarity for him to open up, and she couldn't help but bask in it. She debated responding, whether she’d let it slide as is or not. But she couldn't help her curiosity. 

“He the one who taught you how to fight? You're a little too good for a scrapper.” 

The sellsword followed behind her passively, body language giving no indication he’d even heard her. Finja figured it was best to let it drop, and opened her mouth to apologize.

“Yeah, he taught me. Started basics when I could barely hold a practice sword.”

Finja thought about his reaction to the elven dagger he’d gifted Lucia. It was rather obvious these weren't good memories. She wanted to know more, to ask him about his past, but decided against it. 200 some years would give someone a lot of stories, but would come with a lot of baggage as well. She realized how long of a silence passed when he asked:

“So, where are we going this time?”

Good. He provided a change of topic. 

“I have a briar heart for Master Neloth, and there's some guy trying to excavate a ruin on the way that I want to talk to.”

“Think he’s a lingering Miraak follower?” 

The Breton had taken care of that particular problem with Lydia, just a few weeks before he’d been hired.

Finja shrugged. 

“Not sure. Either way, he’s an idiot for trying to single-handedly dig something up when these ash storms will bury any progress he makes in a day.

__________

When they found Ralis, Finja dumped a huge bag of gold in his hands, and walked off like she’d done no such thing. Teldryn was horrified. 

“You trust that guy?” he hissed. Finja just looked over at him and grinned. 

“I borrowed his journal while he was showing us around the place. He’s legit.”

He’d left it lying on the bench by his tent, it was so easy. Luckily, she was a fast enough reader to skim the recent entries and put it back before Ralis turned around. 

The sellsword shook his head in amused exasperation. 

“I still wouldn't trust that guy. Somethin’ about him… maybe it's his voice?”

Finja shrugged. 

“Well, the damage is done, and we have a temperamental Telvanni mage lord to see.”

“You do know that he’s insane, yes? He’d kidnap the children of Redoran nobles for fun.” 

“Why?” 

Teldryn shrugged. He came to regret not giving her a better answer. 

__________

“Oh, you're back.  _ Finally _ . I assume you have the Briarheart? And did you examine the specimen thoroughly before removing it?” 

Finja pulled the requested item from her bag, but hesitated giving it over. Teldryn couldn't possibly imagine why. She’d had the entire trip to and from Markarth to debate helping the morally dubious Counselor. Wait, was it because of what he said..? By the  _ Three _ , the idiot woman was going to piss off an ancient Telvanni lord and get them both killed. His hand ached to wrap around the hilt of his sword, but any movement now could be seen as aggression if Neloth had picked up on this as well. 

“Why did you kidnap those nobles’ kids?” 

Teldryn gaped. _She_ _didn't just_ …

Finja, on the other hand, looked unfazed. Neloth rolled his big red eyes and gestured for the Briarheart. 

“For  _ fun _ . Now give that to me.”

Finja frowned and handed it over. That wasn't good enough for her. The mage lord pulled his memory spell from her head and turned to one of his many tables. 

“What did you do to them?”

Neloth only seemed to be half paying attention to her, messing with his spell and examining the Briarheart. 

“Nothing. Kept them in a room, watching the fools scramble about trying to get them back. Highly entertaining.” 

Finja burst out laughing and didn't notice her sellsword bristle behind her. 

“I mean, that must have been scary for the kids, but that's  _ hilarious _ . They’d be all up in arms for next to nothing.” 

Neloth seemed to be pleased with her reaction, the vain old mer. 

“Your amusement appears to bother your underling, I’d be mindful of him. Without your… shouting, he might be a challenge.” 

Finja stopped her laughing and turned to him. Even under all that bronze and glass, she could tell he was tensed. 

“Oh, sorry Teldryn, I didn't think-”

“They're a prideful bunch, especially these last two centuries. I can  _ smell _ the Redoran on him. With that accent, a mainlander to boot.”

Finja couldn't believe that Neloth knew Teldryn was Redoran just like that. She gave him a look that said exactly that. 

“Besides, I have recorded the conversation in which he told you. You're awfully  _ childish _ , you know. You could have silenced him.”

Oh no. She didn't think about how Neloth would have memory of Teldryn talking to her. Now she felt like an asshole. 

“Let’s go, Teldryn.” she said, with full intent of apologizing via gold and alcohol once they got back to Raven Rock. 

He had no objections to them leaving, and followed her silently down the tower. Neloth was self absorbed and would think nothing of the abrupt exit, and Teldryn took precedence regardless. She didn't slow her speed to walking until the ash-saturated air had all but obscured the fungus tower. They walked in silence, as Finja tried to formulate her thoughts. Was she putting too much importance on these scraps of information? There was no way to know without asking, so she went the easy route.

“Sorry, Teldryn. I didn’t mean for his attention to shift to you.”

He shrugged, and she might have sensed a touch of reluctance in the movement. Finja decided to take a page from his book and practice nonchalance. Hopefully this would blow over by the time they got back to town. 

__________

Finja had felt awfully ridiculous when she’d been given Severin Manor. After the “Severins” were killed, she’d spent a good amount of time selling off their belongings to an unwitting Fethis at rates she let him haggle down. Counsellor Morvayn, unaware that she’d more or less emptied the place, gifted it to her with a smile. Now the place was  _ hilariously _ devoid of decorations. Ah well. Better to fill with her own crap. 

Teldryn more or less had ownership of the spare bedroom. After so many nights of being assigned to it, eventually it was assumed. He’d even collected a small pile of belongings he kept in a chest. His voice bounced along the round walls. 

“Hey, boss, can I ask a favor?” 

Finja finished dressing into casual wear and met her hireling in the hall. 

“What do ya need?”

Teldryn shifted a little, and she was surprised to see him take a moment to speak. It was unlike him to be anything but forthright. 

“Well, I’d like the night to myself. I haven't had such a long term contract in years, it hasn't been a problem in- … Could I have the rest of the day off?” 

Finja felt a little bad, but was mostly confused. It never occurred to her that he would refrain from asking for  _ anything _ , let alone a day from out of under her thumb. She wondered if he only needed a break, or was upset. He didn't seem the type to hold grudges or anything, but you never knew with this guy. 

“Yeah, ‘course. I'm staying in town, so if you need anything come find me.”

She dropped the extra house key into his hand and head straight for the door. She wanted to go insult Mogrul from the roof of someone’s house anyways, and Teldryn wasn't nearly agile enough to make it up beside her. 

__________

After eavesdropping on Mogrul threaten the Ienths, and then proceeding to mock him into a rage that got him noticed by Captain Veleth, Finja decided that it was about time to commit her first act of premeditated murder. It wasn't, however, the right time, so she chose instead to take part in her regular routine of subtly boosting the local economy by spending outrageous amounts of coin at the Retching Netch.

In retrospect, it was silly of her to be surprised to see Teldryn already there. Where else would he be?

Finja was seated on a stool by Geldis, hand in coinpurse, when she heard a very familiar drawl. She dropped a fistful of septims on the table and turned to look for the sellsword. As it turned out, it was harder than she anticipated. When she did spot him, it was obvious why. Teldryn had changed into a set of clothes she’d never seen on him before. Blue. Dunmer in style. Probably tailor-fit, based on how well he wore it. A couple silver rings in his ears. Finja didn't know the outfit, his helmet was nowhere to be seen, and… he was lounged between a couple sailors, stretched out like a cat and just as playful. 

Was he flirting with them? The distance made it impossible to make out any words, and she suspected portions of it was in Dunmeris anyways, but his body language was… well she’d never seen it on  _ him _ before. Her eyes dropped to see a hand on her hireling’s thigh. Okay. Definitely flirting.  _ Fascinating.  _

“You look surprised. Watch, he’ll go for the guy on his left.” 

Oops. Geldis caught her staring. Regardless, she kept her eyes on Teldryn. Sure enough, he reached and traced a finger up the jawline of the one Geldis predicted. 

“How did you know?” she whispered. 

“He’s the biggest.” 

Now that he mentioned it, the sailor was  _ enormous _ . The big Dunmer guy (he had to have some Nord mixed in him, gods) was easily over 6’ and was built like someone who did manual labor all day. Compared to Teldryn, who was on the short side ( _ just _ taller than her Breton self) she couldn't help but be a little concerned for her sellsword. He wouldn't be useful broken in half. 

Finja shook her head, chuckling to herself, and turned back to Geldis. He looked mildly entertained by her reactions. 

“Give the three of them a round on me. Don't say anything though, please.” 

Geldis did as she asked, confusing the two sailors, but Teldryn sought her out. She gave him a little grin, he gave her a toast in return and an earnest smile that made her feel embarrassingly warm. 

Now that she’d been acknowledged, she couldn't stare anymore, and turned her attention back to Geldis. 

“How much would it cost to buy a whole crate of mazte? I know a mer who would trade me his shield arm if I supplied him.”

A lot, apparently. But gold was starting to pile up in her bag, and was barely a problem for Finja anymore, and she needed to give herself an excuse to go back to Jorrvaskr. With a ridiculously heavy box in arm, she head back to her house for the night. 

__________

When she woke up in the morning, Finja felt that itch in the back of her head to pound someone into the dirt. It was probably one of those dragon-y things Paarthurnax mentioned. Fortunately, she had someone in mind and doubted anybody would  _ actually  _ care about him. 

She crawled out of bed and put on something comfortable to fight in. If she was going to challenge Mogrul, it had to be as fair of a fight as possible to avoid getting arrested for murder. Besides, it wasn't any fun if he posed no challenge. Maybe she’d lend him her sword and use a conjured one to even it up a little. 

Knocking on Teldryn’s door accomplished nothing. Did he even come back? He could be slumped in a corner of the Netch or curled up in someone else’s bed. With a shrug, Finja opened the door and walked in. It is  _ her  _ room, technically. 

The sellsword was strewn across the bed, snoring, and generally looking dead to the world. So he  _ did  _ make it back. Finja shook his shoulder.

“Hey, Teldryn, wake up and watch me duel Mogrul.” 

No response. 

Shaking him again got her an annoyed groan, but no movement. She huffed a sigh. 

“Your loss. I'll wake you up when I get back, so enjoy it while you can.”

With that, she turned to head outside. 

__________

Teldryn woke up to stiff muscles, a mild hangover, and an empty house. 

After (very slowly) stretching and drinking his goatskin dry, he pulled his armor back on. Finding his patron wouldn't prove difficult, he figured. That is, unless she was slinking around. Sometimes he forgot Finja was a master of stealth, considering that during all his time with her she’d focused on developing her sword fighting skills and dropped subtlety altogether. 

Well, she’d show up eventually, and he was rather content to meander into town. Until the previous night, Teldryn’d had little opportunity to  _ mingle  _ since he’d been hired. Finja was tirelessly searching for adventure, resting only when visiting her daughter or in the case of serious injury, and as a result he has little downtime. Most of his previous patrons lived for the gold, not for the adventure. So he ended up with short term contracts that paid enough for him to binge on pleasantries until a new patron came around. Finja is not one of those. 

Teldryn mused on his current employer’s habits as he walked. By the time he reached the Ienths’, the sound of… a swordfight?... reached his ears. Lengthening his strides, he rounded the corner just in time to see Finja knock Mogrul’s waraxe out of his hands and kick his feet out from under him. All in her shabby blue dress. 

Teldryn laughed to himself and watched Finja turn to talk to Captain Veleth, probably about the definition of ‘assault’. The few bystanders seemed to go back to what they were doing, assuming the fight was over, and didn't notice when Mogrul stood back up. Even the Captain was too focused on the Breton to see the Orc reach for his axe.

Oh shit.

_ “FINJA!” _

With the reaction time of someone not-quite-mortal, his patron side-stepped just enough to avoid the brunt of Mogrul’s swing. It tore through her side nonetheless. Mogrul had no time to recover from the bodily strike he’d made, however, and couldn’t move to avoid the Breton’s retaliation. With one hard sweep of her sword, he was bested. 

Mogrul’s body hit the ground with a thud, and his head followed shortly after.

Teldryn ran to his employer and helped her stay standing. Veleth stared in shock at the body of the loanshark, and then slid his gaze over to Finja, almost disbelieving.

“What were you thinking, starting fights without someone watching your back?” Teldryn chided,

“Without any armor, either... Azura, you almost lost a chunk ‘a your side.”

Finja shot him a glare. 

“Well  _ someone  _ wouldn't get out of bed when I said I was going to duel Mogrul. I wanted to hit somebody and wasn’t going to wait around for you to wake up.”

“With no armor on?”

“He wasn’t wearing armor either.” she huffed, “Besides, I wanted to make the duel at least a  _ little _ fair.”

At this Teldryn snickered. 

“Come, let’s see if Milore has any healing potions. No need to add any more scars with your shoddy Restoration practices.”

“I’m getting better…” Although verbally indignant, she leaned on the mer heavily and let him support most of her weight.

“And I don't see you complaining when I’m healing  _ your  _ bleeding ass.”

Finja didn't weigh much and if it wasn't for the relatively short distance, he would consider just carrying her. It would be easier, disregarding any embarrassed teasing, than half-dragging her. Plus, he rather liked harassing his patron. Rather liked her period. 

It wasn't often one got along so well with their hireling, and he was reveling in it. As much as he likes basking in the fruits of his labor, he’d always had a taste for adventure. His patron is a steady supplier. 

Teldryn finds himself hoping she’ll keep him around. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Has anyone ever told you that you've got sticky fingers?” 

Teldryn watched his patron with something akin to fondness as she relieved someone of their gold. To his surprise, she dropped the satchel immediately into his hands. Not one to question free gold, he pocketed it. The fondness grew. 

“Only the entire Thieves Guild. You met some of them, when I dragged you down once. They want to make me guildmaster or something.”

Somehow she managed to pluck a necklace right off a woman’s neck. The movement was so fast and graceful, he was convinced there had to be some kind of magic to it. 

“Have you always been a thief? You never struck me as the type, if I may say.” 

Finja shrugged. 

“I try to learn a bit of everything. I needed money once, so I took it from jarls who would never notice it's absence. Got a little too good, and now it's a challenge to see-” 

she bumped into a guard and apologized, and upon returning to Teldryn’s side, she held a shoddy Imperial sword in hand. The guard continued on unawares. 

“... How far I can push my limits.” 

Admittedly, he was impressed. 

“You're a fast learner, eh? Anything you can't do?” 

Finja shrugged. 

“Swing a big axe without twisting myself up. I think it's the whole dragonborn thing. I can pick up skills like nothin’, but I couldn't explain even basic theory. I have no idea how I conjure atronachs, I just  _ do _ . It's the same with swordplay, you've seen me. I could barely swing right when I hired you.”

She wasn't exaggerating, he’d watched her learn skills in weeks what had taken him years to master. Being dragonborn sounds convenient, other than being expected to save the world and all.

“Say, Finja, aren't you supposed to fight some legendary battle? Yell at a  _ specific _ dragon?”

The Breton dropped her wandering hands back to her side and sighed. She seemed to wither in front of his eyes as the words sunk in. 

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” 

Passerbys went along their day without being burgled, as suddenly Finja was no longer in the mood. For a while they continued down the main road to the blue palace, until she stopped to sit on a stone fence. Her shoulders slumped. 

He kinda felt bad for mentioning it, now.

“I have an Elder Scroll at Lakeview Manor. It's sitting in a chest collecting dust, isn't that insane to think about? I'm supposed to bring it to the Throat of the World.”

Sitting down next to his patron had her leaning into him. Just a little. Just enough to be noticeable. 

“I am terrified of facing Alduin, Teldryn. I can hit a moving target with an arrow from across the tundra, and I've trained my hand off with a sword. I can conjure all kinds of creatures to distract or defend, but I'm afraid that it all won't be enough.”

She looked up at him, and seemed to search for his eyes. When she couldn't find them, she dropped her gaze back to her feet. 

“I am practically immortal until I face him, but once I do… well my destiny is to fight Alduin, not to  _ beat  _ him. And if I do win, then what? I don't want to die.”

“Nobody wants to die, Finja.” he responded, hoping the softer tone of voice would make up for his incompetency at comforting. He wasn't prone to this sort of thing, but he  _ was  _ the one who killed the mood.

“If it will help your confidence, I’d be willing to spar with you.”

He offered it hesitantly, unsure if she’d take it. Even with her rapid learning, he still had a solid 200 years of practice over her, so his ability wasn't in question, but she could be prideful at times. 

It made her smile. 

It was a small one, candid and a little bashful. Finja was prone to frenzied grins and toothy sarcasm, but this one was more sincere. It made her look less of an idolized warrior and more a person. 

He’d travelled with her a few months now, but she projected an aura of power near constantly. Even while coughing up blood or thawing her nose over the campfire. As a hireling, he’d slipped easily into a place of subservience. Fair as a patron she may be, keeping his thoughts in mind, it was unquestioned that she called the shots. Sitting here, however, felt more like partnership. Friendship. It was a little overwhelming. 

“That would be nice, yeah.” Her grin widened, “And I’d like to see how long you’d last against me.” 

She laughed and he rolled his eyes, unseen. Giving her a shove only had her laugh more. 

“Don't get cocky, boss, or you'll choke on your words later.”

She flung an arm around his neck, making him jump, and put him in a loose chokehold.

“Hey, Tel, you know me. I never lose!” 

Tel. She called him Tel. 

“So that time I dragged you, unconscious, out of a cave full of Falmer was a win? I'll keep that in mind.”

Shaking in laughter, Finja detached herself from his side. 

“C’mon, let's see if some clever wording will get the idea of Thaneship into Falk’s head. I haven't added any new titles to my name in a while. I bet I could get you named Thane as well if I added some spiced wine to the conversation.” 

“ _ Please _ , don't even mention me unless it comes with coin. It's bad enough that I'm a citizen of this damned province, I don't need a title to further shame me.”

Finja had all but stared at him since she stood, and all the grinning she was doing had tinted her face a shade of pink. 

“I didn't know you were a citizen! How did that happen?” 

Teldryn rolled his shoulders in a shrug and stood to join her. 

“The High King at the time made any Dunmer a citizen a while after the Red Year. I've got some faded papers to prove it. We were all a part of the Empire, anyways, so it was more symbolic than anything.” 

She was still staring at him with that dumb grin. 

“ _ What? _ ” 

Her smile twisted into a mischievous one. 

“I was right. Your face  _ is  _ as expressive as your voice.” 

His face-?  _ Wait _ . 

A hand flew to his head and met skin. Wide eyed, he realized what had happened. 

She’d stolen the helmet right off his head.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the jumbled mess of  _ how? _ and  _ when? _ and  _ give it back!  _ produced only an indignant:

“ _ HEY! _ ”

A quick glance revealed that she’d stuffed it in her pack, but when he grabbed for it, she snatched it away. 

“Mine now, old mer!” she teased, still grinning.

Fine then. He just had to take it from her. 

Another quick grab and she bolted. Teldryn took after her, cursing his patron in any languages he knew. The woman was lighter, more agile, and frankly had the edge of being in her prime. 

But he had determination. 

Finja slowed to look at, and goad, him. In that moment, he pushed himself just hard enough to catch up. He grabbed one of Finja’s arms and pulled her to a stop, ultimately crashing into her and sending them both to the ground in a heap. 

After the initial shock wore off, and the world stopped spinning, Teldryn found himself grinning. Oh, but he still wanted his helmet back. He clambered over to his patron and pulled the bag out of her arms. She laughed, out of breath, and made little effort to stop him or sit up from off the ground. 

He cradled the bag protectively in his arms. 

“Fine, fine, you win.” she huffed, barely containing a smile, and decided to sit up. 

“Let's go get me a title.” 

Teldryn helped her up and she used his distraction to take the bag back. 

“I've changed my mind. No Thane title for you.”

Teldryn laughed and missed the look in her eye. He hadn't taken his helmet out of the bag before she nabbed it. It took him a moment to notice. 

“Alright, give me my helmet.” 

Finja met him dead in the eyes. 

“No.” 

A look crossed his face that she didn't recognize. Though of course, it would probably take time to get used to his expressions anyways. 

“Okay, boss.”

Finja was shocked at the compliance, but wasn't going to argue. She felt bad, assuming she’d pulled rank without meaning to, but he didn't seem too perturbed. If anything he still looked pretty upbeat. She decided to ignore it for the time being. 

__________

  
  


If he was totally honest, he let Finja take his helmet. Well… the second time. Teldryn hadn't exactly planned on letting her take it, but she’d flipped on an authoritative voice that his profession (and leisure activities) made him reflexively obey. He’d put it back on later, but for now he’d indulge her. In a reversed situation, he’d likely be as annoyed as she.

It was kind of funny, anyways, when Falk didn't recognize him without the helmet and scarf. Of course Finja was made Thane, considering the entire province knows her name and half its occupants owe her in some way or another. 

Afterwards, Finja gave her new Housecarl the briefing she gave them all...

(“Hello, nice to meet you, I might visit with my kid sometimes but otherwise just make sure my house doesn't get robbed but sleep in as late as you want”)

… and then they continued on their way. 

It was odd feeling the breeze in his hair, and sounds were no longer muffled, but it was a pleasant change. It certainly wasn't permanent, however. He wore his helmet for many reasons, but he doubted that they would find much trouble while shopping in Solitude.

“Gray or Yellow & Purple?”

His patron was buying a new dress for her daughter. 

“Yellow & purple.” he said, giving them each a look over. They were expensive, and laced at the cuffs. Only the best for the child of the Dragonborn, it seemed. 

Finja forked over the coins, and one of the two Altmer sisters (the one not counting money) batted her eyelashes at his patron sweetly. It took all his willpower not to snicker. It seemed the Breton could go nowhere without accidentally charming someone. Finja noticed, and gave the other woman a bashful smile. 

Packing the dress into her bag, Finja led them out the door and towards the main gate to the city. 

“Where to next?” she asked him, looking over to meet his gaze. It was unnerving, having her look straight into his eyes like that. It would take getting used to. 

“You tell me, boss.” he drawled, the lazy smirk always he wore a first for the woman. 

“I'm not the one with notes on all the areas of interest around here.” 

Finja hummed thoughtfully, apparent reluctance to take her eyes off him in every extra second they lingered, and pulled one of her notebooks from her bag. 

“Most of what I have is in the Reach, it seems. I say we detour west before going back Whiterun.” 

Teldryn shrugged. 

“Your call. I'm just here for the ride.” he said, “Though if we’re in any Dwemer ruins, let's avoid a repeat of the near death experience you had in the last one, eh? I'd hate to have to fish your corpse out of another river.”

Finja laughed. 

“We both know you’d collect my body.” 

“And how are you so certain, hmm?” he teased. 

“Because all of my gold is there. Duh.”

He snickered, because it was true. 

“Hey, Teldryn, if I die can you at least make sure someone knows?” 

She’d turned around again to look at him, and again he was met with full eye contact. 

“Even just a courier to one of my Housecarls, or the Companions maybe.”

Finja’s been awfully morbid today, he noted. 

“Yeah, sure, boss.”

She was quiet for a moment. Teldryn knew what she would ask next. 

“Is there anyone you-”

“No.”

A nod, and she faced forward again. 

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. 

  
  


“How hard do you think it will be to pickpocket the briar heart right out of a Forsworn’s chest?”


	8. Chapter 8

If someone had told Teldryn’s teenage self that he’d get to hunt for pirate treasure with a hero of legend, he would have ran off years earlier. Granted, he’d have to wait… 180 some?... years for said hero to be born, but Little Tel would still be super excited. 

Even after 220 or so years of adulthood, he’d still admit to being excited about what they’d find. You can't stay sane for more than a century without enjoying the more childish pleasures in life. Splashing in puddles, hot soup when you’re sick, pirate treasure, things like that never get old. 

Anyways, he was watching Finja finish digging up the chest some reaver’s had found for them. 

“You going to help me? Or just watch as I do the hard work?”

“Manual labor isn't in my job description. Besides, someone has to keep watch.” 

She dumped a shovelful of dirt on his shoes. The stalhrim boots couldn't possibly get more ash on them, but it was the symbolism that mattered. He shook it off with a wrinkle to his nose that cracked Finja up. 

“Did you grow up some clean-faced rich boy or something? You are too vain for a lowly sellsword.” 

Teldryn sensed lighthearted insult in her question. He thought about his answer for a bit; He hadn't talked about his home life in a very long time. 

“My father was part of the Redoran Guard, and my mother apprenticed as an alchemist before I was born. We lived… comfortably. Perhaps Dunmer merely have higher hygiene standards.” 

“That, or you like looking at yourself more than you should. Nothing like narcissism to keep a mer primped.”

“Says the one who wrestled me into showing more skin. Obviously I'm not the only one to appreciate my habits.”

Finja denied nothing, and their conversation came to a halt when she finally pried the old chest open. 

Inside it was a pair of enchanted gauntlets, a rusty key, and a small sum of pre-Empire gold coins. 

The Breton pulled off her own set of stalhrim gauntlets and carelessly tossed them at Teldryn. While he replaced his cracked glass ones, Finja studied the new enchanted set with a look of concentration. 

“They're stalhrim, obviously, like the rest of the set, and enchanted. It's… uh… Something related to melee weapons?” 

Teldryn snickered. 

“Enchanting is low priority on your list, isn't it?” 

She hummed in assent and slid them onto her arms. Finja now wore the full set of Deathbrand armor. She hadn't even hesitated to put all of it on, curse or not. There's nothing the Dragonborn couldn't do. He’d admittedly been nervous when she pulled the ugly horned helmet out of the ground, but the damned thing fit her head  _ perfectly _ . Honestly, this little human breaks way too many rules. 

Teldryn finished adjusting the straps on his new hand-me-down gauntlets and flexed his fingers. It was fortunate that the height difference between them was all but negligible, as the only issue trading sets was the  _ bulk _ difference. Even then, Finja was surprisingly well built under her layers and Teldryn was no beefcake Nord. Needless to say, it was convenient. 

“Now that we’ve got the armor set and key, we can raid this guy’s treasure trove,” Finja declared, grinning with more than a little excitement. She clambered out of the ditch and Teldryn reflexively grabbed an arm to steady her. 

“You seem more excited than I am,” he replied, giving her a playful smirk, “aren't I supposed to be the greedy one?” 

She rolled her eyes and started them heading North, towards the few ruins she hadn't yet explored. 

“I'm excited about the adventure, Teldryn. The adventure and the artifacts. Not everyone gets to see hundreds of years of history with their own eyes.” 

“It's not as if I'm studying variations in armor design, Finja. I eat and sleep and kill things for gold. I've only been to a handful of places in 220 some years.”

She shook her head in mock disappointment. 

“Even with the extra decade or so from being Breton, I still envy the time you have.”

Teldryn shrugged. 

“The darker things in life stretch out just as much, and you never know when you're going to die. For me, I imagine it's my lifestyle, sometimes I forget that I could live so long.” 

Teldryn meant to continue on that trail of thought, however he glanced a look at his patron and his eyes caught the details of her face. 

“But then I stop to look and see that everyone is aging around me. It's much more obvious living around humans. Time seems to slip by and the next time I see that one merchant, they've gone gray around the ears.”

There was a moment of silence after that. It seemed neither of them knew how to continue. Teldryn had, once again, made a harmless topic depressing. The problem was that he was comfortable with Finja and he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. All the thoughts that rattled in his head spilled out because, hey, someone was listening. 

“It must be easier living around your own people, huh?”

“Yes.” 

They went silent again, just for a few moments. 

“I never felt any real connection to a particular race. Just to humans in general. I was adopted by non-Breton parents who died when I was 14, and I spent a good number of years after in a tiny northern Cyrodiilic village. I was a Breton with a Nord name, no parents, and Imperial neighbors.”

‘How  _ did _ you end up with a Nord name?”

“My mother’s grandma was a Nord apparently. As a child my eyes were a bright blue and so they thought… Well it was too late to change it when I got older.” 

Teldryn chuckled and glanced over at his patron. It was hard to imagine Finja as a Nord. She’d be taller than him. Piercing eyes. Have the Holds wrapped around her finger even more than she already did. 

“Watch out for this ledge here, those little bug things like to huddle up under it.” 

Finja pointed at a nearby rock formation and led them around it. 

“Scribs. They're called scribs,” Teldryn stated, “And there must be a nest around here somewhere. A shame it's so far from town or they might be able to make a profit off mining it.” 

The two of them skirted around, watching for any movement in the ash. Once in the clear, Finja went back to checking the map for notable landmarks. 

“The ruin should be on one of these islands just up the coast. We might have to steal somebody’s boat to get to it though.”

Teldryn grimaced. 

“Are you certain there's no way to get there by land?” 

“If there is, it's not marked on the map.” 

He groaned, loudly, just in case she missed the implications of displeasure. 

“You're such a whiney child, Tel, calm down. I'll do all the rowing if you're really that bothered. It's not like you get seasick, I wouldn't drag you to and from Skyrim so much if I'd noticed that.”

“It's not the  _ boat _ I don't like, it's the  _ water _ . It's cold… and deep.” 

Finja rolled her eyes at him and then squinted into the distance. 

“That looks like the island up there. Do you see any stray boats around? Solstheim has a suspiciously large amount of wrecks for an island nobody wants.” 

He snorted and scanned the shoreline. 

“Looks like there's one half buried just across from the ruin. I can't imagine it's seaworthy, however. Who knows how long it's been there.”

“Let's check it out then!” 

__________

Unfortunately for him, the little rowboat wasn't in terrible condition. Finja proceeded to drag it to the shore across from the island, and expected him to get in it. 

“That's not going to happen.” 

“Just get in the boat, Teldryn!” 

“I can see the holes in it. No way.” 

“All you have to do is sit! Close your eyes and think about shiny new coins while I do the work! The island is  _ right there _ !”

“Finja…” 

“If you don't, you either sit here and wait or you swim-”

“I  _ can't swim,  _ Finja! I'm not drowning because you decided to chance it on a  _ wrecked rowboat _ !”

The Breton snapped her mouth shut, eyes wide. Teldryn unclenched his fists and sighed. After a thoughtful lapse, she started digging through her bag. 

“...What are you doing?”

With only a small dramatic flourish, she produced a tiny bottle. He took it and read the label. 

“Potion of Waterbreathing.”

“Now get in the boat.” 

Sighing, he complied. The old wood creaked under his foot and made the boat wobble. Steeling his nerves, he sat down on the bench and tried not to think. Finja pushed the boat into the water, hopped in, and as soon as it was off, he closed his eyes. 

He listened to the sound of the waves and the thunk of the paddle against the side of the boat. He listened to the birds and the rustle of barren trees and the howl of ash-laden winds. He listened to Finja’s heavy breathing, and decided to focus on that. Unlike his ash-torn lungs, there was little rattle to it. Healthy, powerful, young. It wasn't hard to believe she channeled the power of dragons with those breaths. 

When the boat slid over sand, the boat rocked and Teldryn jumped. Opening his eyes confirmed that they were safely on the opposite shore. Actively not looking at what had to be a puddle of water at the bottom of the boat, he stepped onto frosted sand. 

“You okay?” 

His pride stung, but he was fine. 

“Yes. Is this the island?”

Finja pulled out her map and squinted at it for a moment. With a huff, she folded it back up. 

“Can't tell from the map. We have to find out the hard way. There’s a big ruin-looking arch, though, which is good.”

Teldryn hummed in assent and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. His patron led them toward the crevice in the island, frozen sand cracking beneath their feet. They made it only a few feet before Finja halted and threw up a hand. In response to the Breton’s cocked head, he focused on listening. The echo of voices in the distance whispered against his ears, and he grimaced. Reavers. Finja slid an arrow out of her quiver and dropped into a crouch, so Teldryn pulled his helmet on. They crept closer, weapons in hand, and tried to make as little sound as possible on the crunchy sand. 

Turning the corner revealed a promisingly large barrow, and closing the distance to the entrance they saw a pair of chitin-clad bandits bickering on the step of a door. 

Finja dropped to one knee and drew back her bowstring. 

“Fireball the one on the left,” she breathed, “on the count of three.”

Teldryn nodded and raised his arm. 

“One”

“Two” (Teldryn gathered the fire in his palm)

“Three!”

In perfect sync, Finja released the bowstring and Teldryn launched his fireball. 

The arrow landed first, a quick  _ SHUNK _ that dropped the first reaver, and the fireball hit the other a moment after. He cried out and stumbled back, giving Finja the time to notch another arrow and sink it into his chest. 

The two of them stood on their feet and continued forward, both with swords drawn, towards the entrance of the ruin. There was nobody else in sight, so Finja sheathed her sword and dug out the key she’d found. It fit the lock and the door swung open under a hearty push. 

They were greeted with a rush of stale air and the remnants of a catacomb. They coughed for a few moments before venturing in. A couple of stalhrim covered sarcophagi and a frozen corpse. That was it.

“You’re shitting me.” 

Teldryn snickered at Finja’s irritation to hide his own. If he got on that damned boat for nothing…

Finja dropped to a squat next to the corpse and rooted around for pockets. She came up with a handful of gold and a battered journal. While she flipped through the stiff pages, Teldryn wandered around the room. 

“Decent amount of stalhrim,” he mused, “Maybe we’ll make  _ some  _ profit from this little venture, eh?”

He stepped over to his patron and plucked that special pickaxe off her back. After testing the weight in his hands for a moment, he swung it at the magic ice. One crack at it got Finja’s attention.

“What are you doing?” Glancing back revealed her bewildered expression. He turned back to his work and swung the pickaxe again.

“Collecting the stalhrim, obviously.”

A pause.

“You hate mining. You always sit back and watch me while moaning about the very  _ idea _ .”

He turned to look at her, knowing the effect his blank goggles would have.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“What? No, have at it. I just wanna know why.”

He shrugged noncommittally and turned back to his work. Of course he knew  _ why _ , even if he wouldn’t admit it. His pride still smarted. Not that he was the type to get  _ embarrassed _ , but he didn’t like looking foolish.

_ Crack. Crack.  _

“Looks like there might be a tunnel behind this stahlrim.” Finja announced, snapping the journal shut, and that got his hopes up. Maybe this venture would be worth the effort after all. 

_ Crack. Crack. Crack. _

“Gods, you’re slow, give that to me.”

Finja appeared at his side and stole the tool from him. He snorted a laugh and backed away to watch her take apart the stalhrim wall in half the time. She moved over to the next one, and with each swing there was a hollow tone to the crumbling ore. Promising.

Lo and behold, they broke into a passageway. The two of them hurried to gather up the stalhrim and into the tunnel. A few steps down and there was another locked door. Finja grumbled about the excessiveness and dug the key back out. After a few seconds of wriggling the rusty old lock, the key turned and they pushed the door open.

  
  


Neither of them believed their eyes. It was dark, maybe they were just seeing things? But the braziers lit themselves and blinded them with the glint of  _ thousands _ of gold pieces.

“By the Three…” Teldryn whispered.   
  
“We’re going to be so rich,” Finja added.

There were  _ piles _ of gold.  _ Piles upon piles. _ Strewn among it all were jewels and armor pieces of varying quality. Finja walked into the center of the hoard, scattering coins with every step, and dropped to her knees. She tore off her gloves and sifted her hand through the gold, watching as it slipped through her fingers.

Teldryn dropped his helmet and joined her side, a hysteric grin forming on his face.

“ _ Look  _ at it all, Finja!” She glanced at his face and laughed. Laughed and laughed and scooped up a handful of gold and tossed it at him like a child in sand. In trying to dodge, he fell onto his back. The coins clinked as they scattered around him and it was music to his ears.

“It’s your dream come true, Tel,” she joked, tossing coins over his body like a cheap alley boy, “Some hunk of a patron showering you with gold!”

Teldryn laughed so hard it devolved into a hacking cough and Finja flopped beside him, grin splitting her face.

“How are we supposed to carry all this?” Teldryn turned his head towards his patron, taking in her wild grin, and a warmth curled in his chest.

“I have no idea,” the Breton replied, facing him and showing off the giddy look in her eye. On a whim, he slid his arm under her head, pulling her into his side. They laid there, lightheaded from revelry, and stared at the ceiling as their heartrates slowed.

“It feels good to finally have the wealth I deserve.”

Finja burst into laughter again, and Teldryn grinned. Even surrounded with enough coin to bathe in, the thought of retirement never crossed his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

Finja promised him that they wouldn’t be going back to Solstheim for a while. If she broke her word and tried to convince him otherwise he’d- he’d carry her out of Windhelm himself if he had to. He wasn’t going anywhere near a boat for  _ months _ if he could help it.

However, the absurd amount of gold they’d been carting back made his complaints a slight less frequent. That being said, the whole process was a mess. Finja had permission to use Glover’s forge and they’d melt all the ancient coins down into ingots. There was little that stood a chance against the two of them nowadays, but having an entire pack full of jingling coins was asking for trouble. Instead they filled a crate with ingots and pretended to be smuggling mazte to ‘a friend in Whiterun’. They’d taken half a dozen trips already.

This was, for now at least, their last trip. Teldryn’s patience had been wearing thin and Finja has Dragonborn business to deal with, so here they were. In Windhelm.

He hates this city even more than Solstheim.

“Alright,” Finja started, the heavy crate in her arms, “Let’s stop at the inn for the rest of the day and leave off early tomorrow.”   
  


Teldryn wanted to complain, he really did, but figured Finja would make him carry the crate to the stables and he wanted none of that. Instead he put his helmet on and breathed a sigh of resignation.

“You’re the boss.”

As they walked towards the center of town, they had to pass through the Gray Quarter. He stood a little straighter and did his utmost to look casual, but in reality his eyes latched on to every shadow, every figure, every familiar step. He longed not to be recognized, and he took efforts to avoid the doorstep of certain hovels. Oh, he knew  _ that one _ . He was there once when he was young, led through the door with the promise of coin, a cold hand pressed to the small of his bac-

“Take a right,” he hissed, and Finja obliged. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked to avoid certain areas, she was used to it. 

For the next minute they walked in silence, and it was this that let them hear the whispers. Teldryn couldn't quite make out any words with his helmet on, but the way Finja started picking up her feet with every step signaled that she could. Conscious of his footfalls, he closed the distance between them. 

“Someone’s been murdered,” she whispered. A pause. 

“Not a Dunmer.”

He hummed an acknowledgement and kept in pace. There were no guards around the inn, and upon entering, there also were very few people inside. Teldryn held the door open for his patron and closed it behind them. Finja dropped her load on one of the bar stools with a huff and looked up at Elda. 

The Dragonborn started on a request, but let the sentence drop. 

“What's wrong?” 

Teldryn, who had been hovering by the door, took a look at the innkeep. She was clearly upset, with tear tracks running down her face and a slight quiver in her voice. 

“It’s Susanna…” she said, swallowing hard, and then:   
“The butcher got her, the poor girl.”

Teldryn moved farther into the room, figuring the Nord was a little too distressed to notice any Dunmer-like mannerisms he has. His patron was speaking soothing words to the older woman, and eventually gold exchanged hands. Finja lifted their box of gold and jerked her head for him to follow. 

“What is it with these damn inns and only offering one bed in a room?” she grumbled, dropping the box on the floor. Teldryn closed the door behind them and pulled off his helmet. 

“If I were to guess, they hope to charge you for two separate rooms.”

He chuckled at the annoyed groan she made. Sitting down in a chair, he ran his hands through his mohawk and watched as she tried to find the least conspicuous spot to shove their treasure. Having not taken any armor off first, she struggled humorously with the limited movement. After wiggling around awkwardly trying to push the box under the bed, she seemed satisfied and sat back up. With his gloves off and hands around the first buckle of his chestpiece, he wasn’t thrilled to hear her immediately declare,

“All right, let’s go.”

He paused and looked up at her, his expression as affronted as he could make it.

“Go?”

Her lip quirked up at his indignation, but she held firm. 

“The barmaid just got killed. We can probably catch the start of the rumor mill if we get over there now.”

Teldryn sighed. He’d offer to stay and ‘guard’ their treasure, but knew Finja’s propensity for finding danger meant she’d likely get dragged into a multi-day expedition if he wasn’t there to make her slow down. So, he stood up and put his helmet back on. She gave him a pleased smile though, which was nice. He followed her out the door, tugging his gloves back on before the residents of the inn could see his skin. 

\----------

They got wrapped up in the mystery of it. He wasn’t even remotely surprised when the nearby guards begged for her help. Of course she agreed, and they spent the next hour talking to anyone within reach. Teldryn only half paid attention. Finja scribbled down everything in one of her leather notebooks, but most of it was just speculation anyways. It was only when he was dragged into the Hall of the Dead did he start paying attention. 

The door closed behind them and he really wished he could have left it open. Finja trudged on, unbothered by the atmosphere. It stunk of embalming fluid and decay. It set his nerves on end, repulsion growing in his stomach, and he loathed every second of being in there. He followed his patron closely, sword hand twitching uncomfortably. They stopped in front of a body and the priestess looming over it. 

“Jorleif sent me your way. Find anything?” he heard his patron ask.

He’d seen (and made) a lot of grisly bodies in his lifetime. A lot. This one wasn't any different, but something about it unsettled him. Skin hard and body blotchy from settling fluids, it wasn't pleasing to the eye, to be sure. Looking around only made his stomach churn more. He didn't need to see into the sarcophagi to know what shriveled and deformed figures filled them.  _ Nords and their embalming _ . The nausea grew to an unbearable level and he couldn’t stand it any more. It wasn’t right what they did to bodie- Fuck it. Teldryn mumbled something to Finja and all but ran out of the building.

The door slammed behind him and he ripped his helmet off, gulping in a lungful of fresh air. He startled the guard posted by the murder scene with his abrupt exit, but he didn’t care. The looks he was getting from said guard might have set Teldryn on edge any other time, but he was too busy airing out his lungs and helm. Staring up at the clouds helped him clear his head, and the tumult in his gut settled into a slight discomfort. A few more breaths and he leaned against the wall, looking back down at his surroundings. 

The guard was responsible for cleaning up the blood. Poor bastard. There wasn't much he could do in the freezing temperatures without losing his fingers, so his fruitless scrubbing did little more than spread congealed blood thinner. Teldryn watched him for a moment, pitying the man for the amount of work he had left. 

Now that he was looking… there was a bit of a blood trail leading out wasn't there? Teldryn pushed off of the wall and took a few steps closer. Sure enough, a few droplets of blood were smeared across the icy stone every few steps, leading into the richer district of the city. He heard the door of the Hall close and without looking, called to his patron. 

“Oi, Finja, come check this out”

The Breton joined his side and looked at the trail he pointed out. 

“Shit. Nice find, Tel. Let's follow it.”

__________

By the time they left Hjerim, Teldryn was tired and irritable. More so than usual, that is. Finja’s curiosity won over disgust at the gorey mess that greeted them, and she had no qualms with tiptoeing through pools of old blood and rotting scraps of flesh to look for anything damning. Teldryn had lost interest quickly. This was the job of the guard and he didn't care for mysteries. So he had followed a few steps behind, silently cursing his patron, and avoided sullying his boots as best as he could. 

Finja had the sense not to bother him as they head back to the inn, and instead focused on admiring the odd charm she’d found. Her distance was appreciated, as he was only capable of unusually biting sarcasm right then. It had been a  _ long  _ day and he was going to crawl into bed and stay there until he was absolutely ready to get up. 

The evening crowd was settled in and the building rumbled with chatter and the metallic sound of tankards. Teldryn made straight for their room, ignoring how his patron stopped at the bar. Shutting the door behind him, he immediately started pulling off his armor. If there was unnecessary irritation in his movements, he wouldn't be the one to care. Each plate of stalhrim he removed felt like sweet relief and he couldn't be rid of it sooner. Teldryn could still smell the blood on his boots as he removed them and while he wouldn't mind any other day, the stress of this  _ fucking city _ made everything that much harder to deal with.

Finja walked into the room as he pulled off the last of his armor, carrying a plate of bread and cheese. The sooner she was out of her armor, the sooner he could crawl into bed, so Teldryn met her at the doorway and reached for that one clasp that always gave her troubl-

Finja stopped his hand with her own and he jolted at the contact. 

Meeting the steady look in her eyes made him conscious of the tension he held in his shoulders. Teldryn took a breath and relaxed his posture. 

“Eat. Sleep.” she said placatingly, “I'm going to try and catch Jorleif before the sun sets.” 

The plate was pushed against his chest and Finja let go of his hand so he could take it. 

“Okay,” he said dumbly, and got an amused smirk in return. 

Finja threw a, “Don't wait up for me,” over her shoulder and closed the door behind her. 

__________

Teldryn ate ravenously, attempted to wash as best as possible with only a pitcher of water and a rag, and made himself comfortable on the bed. Exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes open. It was, however, pretty cold, and part of his mind stayed awake waiting for Finja to get back so he could leech her body heat. He drifted in and out of sleep for a while, which only annoyed him further, until the door finally banged open. 

Finja stood in the doorway, face flushed and panting, covered in blood. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ happened?!”

Teldryn was by her side in an instant, nearly tripping over the furs he tossed to the side. He was just about to pry apart her armor to find her wounds when her hands stilled his for the second time that evening. 

“ _ Relax, _ ” she panted, “It's not my blood, I caught the Butcher.”

The crash of blind fury took him by surprise, all his pent up frustration rising back to the fore, and he couldn't quite leash his mouth. 

“You went after a serial killer  _ WITHOUT BACKUP?!? _ ”

Teldryn had half a mind to throttle her where she stood for being a complete fucking moron but the startled look on Finja’s face deflated his rage somewhat. 

“I’m sorry, Teldryn, I figured it was something I could handle on my own.” 

Mephala take him now. He ran his hands down his face in an effort to take it down at least three notches. That look of hers hit a sore spot. 

“You're the fucking dragonborn,” he said, mostly to himself, “I'm sure you were fine.”

Suddenly he was feeling a little queasy. Too many emotions at once for having just been (kind of) asleep. His patron was eyeing him, trying to read him, so he distracted her by tugging on the strap he'd aimed for hours ago. It worked, and she was out of her armor in no time. 

The second he dropped the last plate, Teldryn turned and dropped onto the bed. Burying his face in the scratchy straw pillow, he huffed a sigh and felt his anger drain out of him. Yelling at Finja wasn't his smartest move, but it did make him feel better. What a bastard that made him. 

The bed creaked as Finja climbed in next to him. He laid perfectly still, and tried not to audibly sigh when she pulled the furs up over them. Then she spoke.

“Is it cool if I touch your arm?”

It was such an uncharacteristically timid request for her to make. He grunted assent and he felt her warm hand slide across the skin of his arm. Warm breath tickled the back of his neck, and he assumed she was watching him. 

“It was Calixto.”

With all his anger gone, and the comforting touch on his arm, it took a few moments to muster the energy to respond. 

“The collector? Why?”

“Dead sister.”

“Huh.”

Finja settled back on her side of the bed, back to back with him. A long silence stretched. In that moment of semi consciousness and exhausted lack of inhibition, he heard himself breathe out his thoughts.

“Yelling at you was stupid.”

“I would have yelled at you, too.”

He could hear the cheeky smile in Finja’s voice but he couldn't bother to be annoyed. 

“G’night.”

“Night, Tel.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was cold. It was  _ way  _ too cold. Teldryn was half tempted to run back to the carriage driver and beg he get a ride south, but didn't feel like forking over the measly 20 crowns. Besides, Finja would probably physically drag him with her if he tried to bolt. 

The College of Winterhold stood ominously in the distance, obscured somewhat by the perpetual haze of snowfall. It had to have been an intentional choice to make it look so imposing on the skyline. Damn mages.

“What if they don't let you in?” 

Finja actually  _ snorted _ at his hopeful comment.

“They begged me to join the last time I was here. 

“Because you're the  _ extra special Dragonborn? _ ” he mocked, which earned him a shove. 

“Yes, asshole,” she laughed, “don't let your jealousy show.”

Finja led the way on the steps, wondering if the magic pools were supposed to be lighting up. Hadn't they the last time she walked across the bridge?

“Jealousy? What's to be jealous of? Yelling, but with  _ magic _ , and being stuck with some Nord destiny. I'll pass.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, and halted in front of the locked gates to the College. 

“These are supposed to open.”

Teldryn reached forward and gave the wrought iron a shove. It didn't even budge.

“Huh.”

Finja gave it a tug, just in case its doors swung out, but to no avail. 

They stood in front of the doors for a solid minute, feeling like helpless idiots, before somebody on the other side of the gate noticed them. The Altmer woman jumped and ran over to them. 

“Uh, hello?” 

“Oh hey!” Finja replied, her most charming grin on her face, “I remember you from the last time I was here!”

The woman leaned forward, peering through the bars of the gate. She squinted at Finja and Teldryn was glad neither could see him roll his eyes behind his helmet.

“Sorry, who are you again?”

“Boss,  _ please _ , throw your reputation around for once.” He made sure to turn his head obviously to look at the taller woman. 

“This is the Dragonborn, Finja. She wants to join your club and I'm freezing my ass off, would you mind opening the gate?”

Faralda, as he'd later find out was her name, looked a mite affronted. Finja hissed something that he couldn't quite catch, but it didn't sound pleased. 

“Ah, then you must be that Dunmer she carries along. I heard you're quite a  _ downgrade  _ from her previous compatriots.”

Ouch. Well played. 

“I'm sorry, but, can you please let us in? I promise we'll behave. I want to join this time, really.”

Faralda eyed down Teldryn for a moment. 

“He has to prove himself in magic before I can let him in, too.”

Sighing wearily, Teldryn summoned a ball of flame in his hand and made it dance around a little to prove his control. It must have been enough, because the Altmer stepped back and the gates swung open on their own. 

“Welcome to the College. I'll find Mirabelle so she can give you the tour.”

__________

The tour was boring. For him, at least. Finja was over the moon about the place and was quick to chat up the other apprentices. The Dunmer girl took one look at his helmet and gave him a knowing nod so he struck up small talk with her. He was pulled into the conversation a lot deeper than he expected. Whether it was a need for new people or the comfort in his own kind, he wasn't sure. 

“No, my family isn't part of the House, to my father’s disdain. I came from a line of Redoran Guard, however.”

“I can't imagine there's much competition to join the House, anymore.” she said, the dark humor pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“Ah, but with Redoran’s rise in power the past two centuries, it is an appealing opportunity.”

Brelyna seemed to gather a response, but they were interrupted by Onmund shuffling over into their space. 

“Oh, sorry to interrupt.” he mumbled, stole an awkward glance at Teldryn, and continued, “But I need to know if… Are you and the Dragonborn..? Like, is she single? There's a lot of rumors, but nobody seems to know for certain.”

Brelyna rolled her eyes and they heard J’zargo snort a laugh from wherever he was eavesdropping. The poor Nord had the grace to look embarrassed, his face going a bit red, but seemed rather adamant. 

“No, Finja and I aren't together. To my knowledge, she is single.” The way Onmund perked up at that struck a nerve.

“But I wouldn't put my bets on Finja staying long enough to court her. She's prone to following impulses and leaving for months on end.”

Onmund still looked hopeful, the poor sap. He wasn't the only one vying for the attention of the legendary Dragonborn, and he was unlikely to be the last. 

“Teldryn!”

He turned to see Finja running up to him. 

“C’mon, you've gotta see the rooms we got! Plus I bought some real nice mage robes.”

Excitement shone in every movement, and she tugged on his arm playfully. He saw the two apprentices give each other a look and ignored it in favor of letting his employer lead him out of the main hall. 

He wasn't too thrilled about walking across the frozen courtyard again, but the housing area was comfortably warm. Warm enough that he took off his helmet to prevent it from steaming up. Finja gave him a quick rundown of the services upstairs (thankfully, without making him actually walk up the stairs) and pointed out two adjacent rooms. 

“And these are ours.” 

Teldryn was a little surprised that the college had space to spare for him. Considering he made it pretty clear he had little interest in studying, he assumed that they'd make him share with Finja. He certainly didn't mind, however. It was rare that he got his own bed unless they were at that mansion of hers. 

“I'm gunna put on my fancy new mage robes, give me a moment.”

As he walked over to his room, it occurs to him that  _ none _ of the rooms had doors. Whose genius idea was that? He half heartedly opened drawers and nabbed any ingredients laying around while waiting for Finja to change. The telltale sound of her armor hitting the ground told him she was having no problems getting it off alone. He placed his helmet on a nightstand so he could dig through the wardrobes.

When he turned around and saw her standing there, he nearly had a heart attack. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Finja, don't sneak up on me.” 

He took his hand off the hilt of his sword and watched in shock as she gave him a twirl in the purple robes.

“How do I look?”

It took him a moment to process the request. 

“Much better than that garbage the upper class call ‘fashionable,’ but much more susceptible to attacks.” he managed. When he slid his eyes down to her feet he recognized the enchanted black boots she'd abandoned all those months ago. 

Finja held out to him a second set of robes, though designed differently, with a look of expectation. 

Oh no. Definitely not. 

“I'm not wearing robes.” he said flatly. 

“Please, Teldryn? You've gotta dress the part.” He noted that she was actually requesting, and not ordering, him. Nonetheless, he crossed his arms and stared her down. 

“It's my job to protect you, and I'm a much better swordsman than a mage. One of us has to be armored.”

Finja stepped into his space and tried to wedge the robes between his arms with a grin. 

“C’mon, they're so _ comfortable _ ,” she cooed, a mischievous smile on her face. He responded by grabbing her hands and pushing them gently away from himself with a snort. 

“And I’d look ridiculous in them.”

Finja pushed her hands back towards him, testing his strength and will. 

“It would accentuate your arms~”

A snicker escaped his mouth as he play-fought Finja. It took only a second for things to escalate and she laughed as they pushed hard at each other, as if the winner decided Teldryn’s fate. Hands locked together, they wriggled around and threw their weight into each other in childlike competition, fabric trapped between one set of locked fingers. 

Finja’s foot scuffed back a half step, and Teldryn took the opportunity. With a grin he pushed with all he had left and managed to pin her against a closet door. She hit the wood with an ‘oof’ and a short laugh. 

Teldryn’s stomach dropped. He had her pressed against the wood, hands pinned to either side of her head and he felt her breath against his skin. When she met his gaze, eyes wide, he jumped back like he'd been burned. 

“I win.” he managed, sounding a little strangled, and he ignored the way his hands tingled with energy. From the corner of his eye he saw Finja tense up, and he turned to put his helmet on. 

There was a horrible moment of silence. 

“I've got a few books I need to return to the Arcaneum.” she said. Her voice almost sounded normal.

Stiffly, she turned and made for the door. Without hesitation, Teldryn followed. 

__________

“ _ FINJA. _ ” The bellow that greeted them nearly gave them both a heart attack, and Teldryn’s hand flew to his sword. His patron, however, raised her hands in surrender immediately, so he reluctantly let his weapon go. 

The source of the noise was an older looking Orc who looked about ready to tear Finja in half. 

“I have them right here!” she spluttered, holding out two worn books to show before walking slowly to the desk. 

Teldryn, with one hand close to his sword and the other forming a Ward, followed his patron on high alert. 

Finja handed Urag the books and he thumbed through each page, studying them intensely. 

“You're lucky they're in good condition,” he growled, and stomped off to return them to their shelves. 

“I don't suppose you found a Scroll?”

Finja’s pose turned rigid again for a moment, before slumping like she did every time Dragonborn business was mentioned. 

“Yes. I did.” she said. 

Teldryn remembered the look she had when she’d come down from that mountain. She barely talked to him that night, just drank herself to sleep. It took a week to get her to slow the breakneck speed she’d started at after, doing every petty task asked of her with little sleep. He was too afraid to ask what had happened, but it must have been upsetting. 

“And yet there are still dragons.” 

Finja physically started before slouching even farther in on herself. 

“I'm aware.” 

“It’s late, do you need anything from my-”

The Breton ignored his words and turned towards the door, head hanging. 

Teldryn followed behind, closing the great door, and felt the sudden weight of guilt. He wasn't entirely sure how much of her mood was due to him, but he felt somehow responsible for making it up to her. Finja said nothing to him, shuffling towards the rooms with her sight trained on the floor. Unsure what to say, what to do, he kept a few steps behind. 

Finja turned into her room without a word and kicked off her shoes. He stood awkwardly by the doorframe and debated what to say. It felt only fair to offer comforts and patience to her, as she had done so many times for him. 

“Finja,” he started, sounding as out of his element as he felt, “if you want to-”

“I'm going to bed.”

She didn't acknowledge him further, only opening the wardrobe door to block the view into her room and began undressing. Teldryn sighed and left for his own room. 

__________

The other apprentices had filtered in and fallen fast asleep. He could hear their even breathing, and occasional snores, if he focused hard enough. Staring at the ceiling, far from sleep, he tried to will himself to be tired. 

But he couldn't. Finja had started sniffling a few minutes ago and it was taking all of his attention. He  _ knew  _ that she had dismissed him rather obviously, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to do something. Thrice damn it. Just as he made up his mind to go talk to her again, he heard her bed creak. A few moments of shuffling passed and she appeared in his doorway. 

The faint blue pool of light was behind her, so he couldn't see her face that clearly, but she wasn't looking at him anyways. The few blankets she'd been supplied with were wrapped around her shoulders and she seemed to be shifting on her feet. 

“Teldryn, I… I’m sorry, can I..?”

Propping himself up, he pulled up the corner of his blankets invitingly. Finja sniffed again and threw her own blankets over his before climbing into the bed. 

“C’mere,” he heard himself say, and Finja let him pull her close. One of her hands bunched up the fabric of his shirt and he felt her begin to cry again. 

Unsure what to do with himself, he awkwardly wrapped his arms around the Breton, which she seemed to appreciate. They had never touched this much before.  _ He  _ hadn't done this in decades, this emotional sort of intimacy, and wasn't certain he was doing anything right. However, he felt Finja take a shaky breath, and start to speak. 

“I'm so scared,” she admitted in a whisper, “I'm so scared that I'm going to fuck up and die and the fucking world is going to end. But it's gunna end without me either way and it's too much, Tel, I don't want to have this stupid destiny. I keep pushing it off, training a little more, killing another dragon but I see everyone looking at me, knowing that their ancestors are being eaten every second I wait and I can't stand by like this any more. Alduin is  _ so strong _ , I don't want to do it alone.”

Hesitantly, he stroked her back with a thumb and she curled further into his chest. He was so overwhelmed, and he didn't know what he was doing, but he had to try. Sovngarde could be swallowed whole and he wouldn't shed a tear, but it would destroy Finja. 

“I believe in you.”

She started a little at that.

“Because I'm the  _ extra special dragonborn _ ?” she said, imitating his earlier mocking. 

“Because you could take down a dragon with your eyes closed. Because you make jarls quake in their boots just from speaking. I've been fighting with you for… what, over a year now? I know you're unstoppable.”

Saying all of that felt exposing and ridiculously awkward, but she nodded against his chest and her sniffling slowed, so it was worth it. 

“Thank you.” she said thickly, and Teldryn sighed. 

“Do you want to stay here?” 

Finja nodded again.

“Give me a second then.”

He rearranged himself onto his back and got himself comfortable. Once he was done, he let Finja curl back into his side, and she hesitantly slid an arm across his chest. Everything in his body thrummed at the feeling of having someone pressed so close against him, but he did his utmost to ignore it. Finally he could rest, what with Finja taken care of. With a long breath, he let himself relax, and slipped into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Finja stood with arms crossed and face stern in the center of the Great Porch. Guards called to each other from their positions on all levels, and he could see Irileth stalking around and barking orders. The local blacksmiths had their hands full checking winches and pulleys, making last minute repairs on the ancient yoke. The sun was setting fast and he saw servants lighting fires in every corner.

Teldryn stood back by the doors, a little overwhelmed and more than a little concerned. 

It was hard to believe that they'd made everything happen. Or, rather, she had. He was certain that Balgruuf would laugh in Finja’s face, and even more certain that she wouldn't be able to negotiate a ceasefire. But she had waltzed into throne room after throne room and looked dead in the eyes of the most powerful men in the country and bent them to her will. She is the fucking Dovahkiin.

Now she was standing in the middle of Whiterun, preparing to capture and interrogate a dragon. Balgruuf walked up to her, a woman a head shorter than him and decades younger, and asked opinions and advice. It was mind blowing. It was intoxicating. And it was amazing to reconcile the stone-steady Breton before him with the one sobbing in his arms a few weeks ago. 

__________

There wasn't much left that she could do to help. Everything was coming together smoothly and she was left waiting for the go-ahead. On wobbly legs she walked over to where Teldryn was lingering. If he noticed how hard she was shaking, there was no way to tell with his helmet on. A quick glance revealed nobody within ear shot. 

“I think I'm going to throw up.” she admitted, and Teldryn barked a laugh. 

“And here I was admiring how confident you looked.” 

She wheezed a laugh and leaned on him a little. 

“Everything will go smoother if they think I know what I'm doing. Hopefully it keeps them from focusing on the fact that I'm going to call a live dragon down on them.”

Teldryn didn't say anything, but he looped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“Dragonborn! We’re ready!”

Stepping away from Teldryn, she took a deep breath to try and stay calm. 

“Here goes. Try and keep these idiots from getting killed if the dragon comes in fighting, alright?” 

Teldryn nodded, and she saw how he clenched his hand around his sword.

Stepping back into the middle she put on her Commanding attitude again. 

“Keep to your positions! I doubt any of you have are anxious to jump into a battle with a dragon, so leave it to me, GOT IT?” 

There was a murmur of assent among the guards. She stood out on the porch, looking to the sky. Feet anchored, she took in a breath, and…

OD AH VIING !

The Shout ripped out of her with all the force she could muster, and she swore it echoed off the mountains. By the gods, she could wake up the whole of Skyrim if she wanted. 

A moment passed and she considered trying again, but a roar shook the whole of Dragonsreach. The dark sky made it hard to pick out by sight, but she recognized the sound of a dragon’s wings immediately. Wind blew back her hair and she raised, aiming for the dragon. 

DOVAHKIIN! HERE I AM! 

The dragon rushed towards her and Finja threw up a ward just before it rained fire down on her. 

“SUBMIT TO ME, DRAGON, AND SPARE YOURSELF A FEW ARROWS IN THE ASS!” 

__________

Teldryn could only watch as Finja proved her might against the beast. She tore it from the sky with some new shout of hers, having ran out of arrows fast, and hacked at it with her sword. He watched, wincing at every opening he saw in her technique, but he had to stay here. It was Dov against Dov.  
JOOR ZAH FRUL!

Once more, the dragon crashed to the ground. He saw Finja panting, but she didn't waver as she lead Odahviing back towards the trap. A guardsman tried to jump forward while they were focused on each other, but Finja growled “Get BACK!” in a tone that would make any man obey. 

“Come and get me!” she taunted, barely able to speak over her breathing, but the dragon took the bait. It crawled forward, opening its mouth to Shout,

and the yoke dropped from the ceiling around its throat. 

It howled, cursing the dragonborn, and the porch erupted into cheers. Finja dropped her sword and leaned forward, clutching at her knees. 

The cries of excitement and relief deafened him to the words of his patron and her captive, but he had work to do. He and Irileth had to get control over the rowdy guards before they did something stupid, and offer them fresh threats of violence if they breathed a word to anyone that they held a dragon in the castle. He saw the Dunmer woman dragging Farengar away by the throat. 

Teldryn had just finished scaring the piss out of some moron who wanted a dragonscale trophy when he saw Finja walking over to him. 

He met her halfway when he saw the look of terror in her eyes. 

“Finja?”

“I'm going to Sovngarde,” she said, her voice a little distant. 

That didn't exactly compute. 

“Last I checked you're not a Nord-”

“There's a portal. That Alduin uses. Odahviing agreed to fly me there.”

He had no idea what to say, and he didn't manage to say anything before she turned to the others. 

“RELEASE HIM ON MY MARK! I’VE STRUCK A DEAL, AND HE’S TAKING ME TO ALDUIN!” 

There was another cheer and a rush of feet getting into position to release the yoke. Finja turned back to him with something akin to sorrow in her eyes. 

“Teldryn, I…” 

Instead of finishing, she reached for his face and tugged on his scarf. Before he could react, she leaned forward and kissed him. 

Full stop. 

The sounds around him became cacophonous as she turned away. He was on sensory overload, unable to process the chaos around him when his brain was so focused on the lingering warmth on his lips. By the time he started to catch up, the yoke was lifted and Finja was climbing onto the neck of the dragon. Blind panic coursed through his veins and when the dragon took off he ran behind, following until the end of the Porch. 

He watched as Finja and the dragon took off east, and disappeared above the clouds.


	12. Chapter 12

Teldryn stood in a daze. Idiots in yellow ran around him, cleaning up and assessing damage. He heard Irileth and Balgruuf yelling orders and it occurred to him only briefly that he might be in the way. 

Somebody threw an arm around his shoulders and led him away, and he distantly recognized one of the senior guardsmen. 

“Let's get you a drink, buddy” he heard, and his response of ‘okay’ may have happened a few moments too late. 

He was still reeling. He was reeling for a lot of reasons. 

Finja kissed him. 

Finja left him without any idea when she would be back.

Nor what to do with himself in the meantime.

Finja kissed him. 

Teldryn was pushed into a chair. Blinking back into reality, he found himself at a table with a couple other guards. They brought mead and seemed to be celebrating. With a sigh, Teldryn pulled off his helmet and fixed his squashed mohawk. A tankard was pushed towards him and he accepted it. Mead was sickeningly sweet and he loathed having to drink it, but damn did he want alcohol right now. 

First things first, get drunk and go to sleep.

Where should he sleep? Something felt wrong about crashing at Finja’s place, even though he doubted Lydia and Lucia would mind. It was different when she wasn't there. Her mansion down in Falkreath was too far to go at night, and he didn't want to be away from the city for when she got back. So, the inn it is. It's not like money was a problem, but he wasn't normally the one spending it. 

With that settled, he lifted the tankard to his mouth and drained it. He got a few cheers from his rowdy compatriots. They must think he's in the party mood. 

It's not my afterlife she's saving, he thinks bitterly, and accepts a refill with a forced smile. 

Somebody pats him on the back and leans into his space. His first thought was to shove them away but they were responsible for the free drinks so he tolerated it. 

“What is she like? Yaknow, when she's not killing dragons?” 

By the Three, he wasn't drunk enough for this. 

“She could make Jarls her bitch,” he finds himself saying, “but she's more interested in exploring ruins and hacking people apart. She reads when she's stuck in bed.”

This time he takes a more reasonable swig of his drink. Couldn't look like he was too desperate after all. 

“She wouldn't look at you twice, just so you know. Her last boyfriend was a werewolf. Finja likes ‘em weird.”

There was a round of “OOOOOO”s from the table. 

Somebody asked him something else but he couldn't be bothered to answer. He was thinking about Finja’s lips. How had he not noticed?

No, that was a dumb question. He'd never been good at noticing. He could spot an innuendo from a mile away but the romantic gestures were lost on him. How long had she..?

He shook his head to clear it, and took another gulp of his drink. It didn't matter. He didn't fraternize with his patrons. Fraternizing meant getting attached. 

Because he definitely wasn't attached. 

He was so attached. 

Teldryn drained his mug and excused himself. They didn't seem to really care that he was leaving, so he scooped up his helmet and made his way to the Bannered Mare. 

Maybe he could buy something stronger once he got there, and hopefully wake up still drunk. How else was he going to pass the time? 

The way down to the lower districts felt longer than it should have. Alcohol and shock probably weren't the best mix. It occurred to him that informing Finja’s housecarl and daughter was probably best done sooner than later, so he took a right instead of a left. 

He knocked on the door softly, just in case they were asleep. It took a few moments, but Lydia answered the door in her nightclothes, though with a sword in hand. 

“Sero,” she stated in greeting, “Can I help you?”

He saw her peer around the door for her Thane. 

“Finja took off to… to fight Alduin. We don't know when she'll be back, but I figured you ought to know.”

Lydia looked concerned, and it made his unease grow. 

“My Thane went alone?”

Teldryn nodded. 

“I don't think it's a journey for us ordinary mortals,” he joked, but realized immediately after that this may very well be the case. 

Lydia pondered that for a second before opening up the door further. 

“You are welcome to stay here until she returns,” the woman said, “I can't imagine she would mind.”

Shaking his head, he took a step from the door. 

“I'm just passing the message. I'll be around town until she gets back.”

This earned him a quizzical look, but he couldn't be bothered to explain himself right then. Actually, he wasn't certain he could. Instead, he bade the warrior goodnight and left for the inn, where he had full intent of getting plastered and sleeping as long as he could. 

__________

Sleep did not come easily to him.  
__________

It was well past noon when he crawled out of bed. His head thrummed painfully and it took longer than it should have to collect himself enough for presentation. Leaving his armor in the room felt… bizarre, but he had no patron to protect and he doubted anyone had reason to mess with him. Instead he wore one of the… what, two? casual outfits he owned from when he had downtime back on Sostheim. 

Teldryn bought a skin of water and something for breakfast from the innkeep and head outside. He didn't even have his sword on him, just his old dagger. Azura, it'd been so long, he actually feels off-balance. 

He sat on the well and munched on his breakfast, thankful that it was overcast enough to spare his hungover eyes. Truth be told, he felt more than a little… lost. He'd been following around Finja for over a year now and was used to being told what to do. Sleep had killed the edge of panic, and now he was just disoriented. Might as well do something until she got back, yeah?

He supposed he could go chat someone up. Seemed a bit early, but what else was he gunna do? Maybe he could track down that Dunmer Companion and see if he still had any of the mazte Finja smuggled for him? Nah, he didn't feel like suffering through an interrogation from all the concerned puppies that Finja had left hanging. 

As he gulped down the last of his water, he saw a rather hilarious sight. Lucia, Finja’s daughter, was chasing down Braith with a wooden sword in hand. 

“Fear me!!” 

The sellsword coughed up his water and broke into laughter. He watched with open approval as Lucia terrorized the bigger girl, swinging the practice sword around just far enough not to actually hit her. Eventually the little Imperial ran out of breath and let her prey escape. 

“Settling the score?” he called, smiling at the girl. She panted, but was grinning wildly.  
“Hello, Mr. Teldryn!” she replied, “I’m only getting started!”

“Well in that case, let me teach you something.” He beckoned her over, and she practically skipped to him, eyes big. He dropped to his knees and adjusted her grip. 

“Don't hold your weapon too tight, you'll drop it the second you hit something. And keep your body behind your sword, make yourself less of a target.”

She nodded, grin still on her face, and practiced the stance he showed her. He adjusted her feet and arms a few times and pointed out the basics.

“You're a natural, kid,” he said, giving her hair a ruffle, “Ruin someone’s day.”

Lucia thanked him and ran off to find Braith again, and Teldryn caught a local giving him a dirty look. It made him snicker. 

He stood and brushed off his pants, taking a seat back on the well. The sun came out and felt good on his face and hands. By no means was it particularly warm, but for Whiterun it was a good day.

“You there, dark elf.”

Teldryn hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, head tipped up to the sun, until he had to open them. It was a safe bet that he was the one being called, that Companion likely got more respect and Jenassa had been gone for a couple weeks now. 

He only had to turn his head down a little to meet the gaze of the Nord in front of him. It was one of the twins. He used to know which was which, particularly the one Finja had a history with, but he'd apparently forgotten how to tell them apart. Recently she started being less weird about avoiding the Companions. She wasn't so hands on with the shadier elements of Riften anymore, and no longer avoided eye contact with the one twin. Maybe it had been long enough for her? Eh, not important to him anymore. 

“Companion. What can I do for you?”

“Word is that Fin-... er, the Harbinger left to defeat Alduin. We need to know… uh… the details.”

Teldryn wasn't entirely certain if this guy wasn't good at talking or was trying, and failing, to be as brief as possible. 

“How much detail?” he replied, lazing across the well and looking as uninterested as he could. 

“All of it.” was the Nord’s response, “My brother is in charge of records.”

Oh, so this is Finja’s ex. Teldryn gave him a long look. His patron would do three day binges at Jorrvaskr to attend to any ‘duties’ she had as Harbinger, knowing full well they just missed her. She seemed to miss them too, but felt guilty about her more dishonorable side jobs with the Thieves Guild. Well, she gently encouraged Teldryn to hang around town most of the time to avoid their passive aggression, so he didn't really get more than glimpses of each member.  
Looking at him now, if Finja were the type to be attracted to appearances, he could understand this one. However, he was under the impression she liked mouthy people like himself, and was a little mystified as to her choice in Nords. 

“Sure, Puppy, I'll go talk to him.” he said eventually, bored with eyeing down Farkas. The flinch that the Nord did gave him a petty little thrill and he slid off the well. Finja had told him about that particular nickname after way too much alcohol and he'd been waiting for the chance to say it without her in earshot. 

Farkas stalked off towards Jorrvaskr with Teldryn in tow. 

__________

It was a surprisingly short experience, since it turned out he didn't actually know as much about Finja’s dragonborn business as he thought. Most of the time he picked on Farkas and watched as Vilkas grew more and more defensive. He was certain he was going to get a quill in the eye when the other Dunmer pulled him away under some weak excuse. 

Turned out, no, Athis drank all the mazte from Finja’s last delivery. It was very disappointing for them both. Athis then challenged Teldryn to a spar. 

“If I win,” he'd said, “you've gotta make Finja bring me another crate.”

“I loathe Solstheim, there's no way I'm losing to you.”

True to his word, Teldryn wiped the floor with him. He was challenged to a rematch, and only wiped part of the floor with him. Despite his career choice he was still Dunmer, stubbornly prideful to the bone, and kept demanding rematches. With nothing better to do, and rather enjoying their banter, Teldryn acquiesced. 

“You're not going to beat me, Athis,” he teased, blocking the first swing of the sword and jumping away from the second, “I hold out against the Dragonborn, and I've been fighting longer than you.”

Athis had that wild look in his eyes that younger mer kept until they finished their first century, he was fast but just didn't have the practice in him. To his credit, he learned fast. Teldryn took longer and longer to beat him with each round. 

“You'll tire eventually, fetcher!” 

Teldryn laughed and missed an opportunity to knock Athis on his ass. 

“I've got all day, s’wit.” 

In fact, he did have all day. The sun was already setting by the time they called truce, and they watched it go down perched on the border wall. Covered in sweat, sword wrist stinging from a particularly well placed smack, Teldryn felt pretty content. 

With the last of the sunlight, he scanned the sky for dragon wings. 

__________

Getting out of bed took a while. He sensed a pattern forming. Stretching out all his sore muscles took even longer, but the burn was an old friend. This morning, feeling like pampering himself, he bought an apple dumpling and a bit of honey to smear over it. Lounging in front of the fire, he ate his breakfast with a bottle of mead and soaked up the fire. Mikael was tuning his lute and Teldryn languished there in comfort for a while. All this adventure, and he’d forgotten why the goal of retirement sounded so sweet. Maybe once Finja got back he'd request they spend a week fattening themselves up with home baked goods and laying around by a fire-

A sinking feeling in his chest killed his thoughts. When was she getting back? He was briefly tormented with thoughts of gruesome deaths at the teeth of Alduin, the drawn out violence that a particularly vengeful being could inflict, but forced himself to stop. 

Breathe, idiot, this is Finja. Has she ever lost to a dragon? not with me at her back, a small voice said, but he crushed it. She got along fine before he was around, and she would do fine without him. 

Teldryn drained the last of his mead and stood. What he needed was another distraction. Something to keep him relaxed until she got back. Because she will come back. 

He looked at the fading fabric of his shirt. Alright, step one, buy new clothes. Was it necessary? No, but he might as well look as filthy rich as he technically was. So rich that he couldn't even carry a large portion of his gold with him. Azura, that was a nice thought. 

Anyways, it was the best thing he could think of this soon after waking up.

When he viewed Belethor’s collection, only then did it occur to him that maybe this wasn't the town to expect luxury items. He left empty handed with a scowl on his face. Solitude was probably the place to go, there was that one fancy clothing store, but there was no way he was running off to another city while Finja was still… making her way back?

Yeah, she was probably on her way back by now, right? Say getting to or fighting Alduin was a longer affair than the average throwdown, she still had to get back from wherever the portal was. If it was far east, it might take a day by carriage.

Teldryn turned towards the gate, hoping a Khajiit caravan was around. They might have something nice to offer. He took a deep breath and focused on that. It was fine, she was fine and would be back any time now. Tomorrow at the latest, if he were to guess. 

One of the guards opened the gate for him when he got close, and he was so shocked he stammered out a thanks. 

I thought they only did that for Finja? 

With a weird twist in his chest, he considered the fact that he was recognizably associated with her. Well, he knew that he was generally recognized as her follower, but to get a similar show of respect? To be associated not just as another sword but as an accomplice to her deeds? He wasn't sure how that sat with him. He is no philanthropist, not in the way she is. Azura, he wanted her back. Everything was so confusing without her to tell it as it was. 

As he reached the end of the walkway, he spotted the colorful tents of the caravan. Ah, good. 

He greeted the Khajiit in charge, and asked about what they had to offer in clothes. Turns out, they had great collection of fabrics, but clothes were mostly DIY. There was a rather opulent looking robe for sale, but he couldn’t imagine when he’d wear it, and had to pass. He briefly considered buying it for Finja, but if he didn’t have the downtime to lounge in a fancy robe there was no way she would. In the end, he bought a rather simple looking red shirt. It was pretty comfortable though, and complimented his build. 

Thanking the caravaneers and turning back towards town, he thumbed his new shirt and was left debating what to do again. What did he normally do in between patrons? Drank and ate all his gold away, slept with anyone he could, and then scrounged until he got a new employer. Yikes. Blowing through the money he had on hand didn't seem like a good idea, and he'd have to wait for the evening bar crowd to look for any possible bed companions. It seems he'd have to find some new way to pass the time. 

_____

After storing his new shirt, Teldryn wandered around town. He chatted with Sigurd and offered a good stretch for his sore back, then promptly discovered that the boy knew nothing other than his job. Bored quickly, he moved on to other townspeople to make small talk with. Amren was a pleasant find, and the two of them lost hours talking about their different lines of mercenary work. Teldryn considered sparring with him, too, but decided to take it easy instead. Eventually their conversation lulled and Teldryn excused himself to go get an early dinner. Again, he spent lavishly on the best the Bannered Mare had to offer. Teldryn took a place by the fire, chewing contentedly on his food. He sorely missed Finja, sitting here alone. She would have been next to him, soaking in the heat and making fun little jabs at the people around them. He was certain she would be back soon, that she was is perfectly fine. And no later than tomorrow, considering how long it's been.

Teldryn deflated a bit. It wasn't even so much that he couldn't go a couple days without her. They could be on opposite ends of the province for a week and he'd be fine. It was that he didn't know for certain she would be back. No. Of course she would. But…

Shaking his head, he stood and stretched. He was going to find something to do. No point in digging himself into pessimism like that. Deciding on maximum relaxation, he pulled from his bag one of the many books that Finja had pilfered and had him carry. He settled on one of the chairs in the center, open for interaction but still comfortable. Cracking open Palla, he was ready to waste away the day. 

_____

Lydia and Lucia joined him, to his surprise, and he bookmarked his page and made small talk with them. It seemed that the Housecarl was just as nervous as he, and silently pleaded for him to assuage the little girl’s own fears. 

In his effort to prove Finja’s power, he found himself regaling one of their many adventures. The woman had stormed into a bandit’s den, challenging every single member 1v1 because she wanted to try her hand at duel wielding. Teldryn had little experience and couldn't offer help, so her first thought was to challenge a bunch of rookie highwaymen. 

Lucia was enamored by his storytelling, and it seemed to have the intended effect. Lydia looked relieved by the change in mood and thanked Teldryn quietly. He shrugged it off. 

“Lucia’s a good kid.”

Falling back into his book was a lot harder than it was the first time, now that his thoughts had started back up. He noticed the evening crowd trickling in, and the desire to mingle was strong, but he was feeling rather strained at the moment. Surprising himself, he climbed into his rented bed to read, and let the sounds of the inn wash over him. Palla was a captivating read, for sure, but it could only do so much to stop the background stress of his reality. He tired quickly, and succumbed to sleep with the book face down on the bed next to him. 

__________

If he had been awake, he might have heard the echoing roars of dragons.

__________

Teldryn slept in late. 

Teldryn ate food that, despite its flavor, he didn't taste. 

Teldryn finished his book, and retained none of the last few chapters. 

Teldryn grew more and more anxious with every passing minute. 

The sun was still high when he took to heavy drinking, and he saw someone cast him a look of pity. He seethed and blocked their face with his bottle of imported whiskey. Time was a bit of a blur after that.

Finja should be here. Absolutely refusing to acknowledge the very real possibility of her death, he grasped for anything. Maybe she got side tracked? No, news would have spread that she was back. Maybe she got lost? Ridiculous, she could find her place on the map with only a quick glance around. Maybe she was avoiding him?

Lifting the bottle again, he let the whiskey slosh into his mouth pathetically and sunk into his chair. Was is because he didn't kiss her back? Did she take that as a rejection and didn't want to see him? Maybe he should have kissed her, if only just to keep her around. She was human, with their short life spans and even shorter youth, so he wouldn't court her. That always ended up poorly. But… He wasn't ready to let her go yet, she was a friend to him like no other in the past 100 years. 

She was dead, wasn't she?

Azura’s sake, he felt a cold sorrow settling into his bones that no amount of alcohol could warm. He shouldn't have let his employment go on this long, this was exactly what he tried to avoid, he-

“Dozens of them, I swear! Circling around the mountain, roaring their skulls off. Brenuin can back me up.”

“You’re really asking me to trust Brenuin’s voucher?”

“They were damn loud, I’m sure some of the guards heard. What could it mean?”

Teldryn whipped his head around to find the two speaking. It was a bit fast, and his vision spun a little as his brain struggled to process the movement. It was Hulda and… uh… somebody who lived in town. Hulda sighed.

“Maybe it is the end times. That’s what Alduin’s return means, according to the old tales.”

“Isn’t that why the Dragonborn left? To fight him?”

Hulda’s eyes flicked over to Teldryn and his hackles raised instantly. 

“She’s only one person,” Hulda murmured, guiltily trying to keep her voice down.

Teldryn shot out of his chair, stumbling a little, and made his way out the door. He didn’t want to hear any of it. He wanted… he wanted something. To be told what to do and where to go. Four days was long enough to be left to his own devices. He had so much gold, and what was he going to do with it? Eat, get plastered, get laid, rinse, repeat. Stopping at the well, he meant to sit on it, but ended up on the ground next to it instead. His drink burned at his throat and he let the dull rush of euphoria wash over him. Leaning against the cold stone he stared at the sky. It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on Masser. He couldn’t stay here. People knew him, knew he was with Finja. They would expect… expect him to be like her. To go out of her way for every little problem. To fight like she could personally rid Skyrim of highwaymen. To have that adoration for every inch of the province, for every person she came across-

Resting his head back against the stone, he tried to focus on regulating his breathing. His vision was swimming and he was distantly aware that he was shivering. 

“You alright there, buddy?”

Some guard was looking his way, torch in hand.

“Fuck off,” he tried, but it sounded more pathetic than angry. The guard regarded him a moment before rushing away. 

He went back to staring at the sky. What had he been thinking about? He couldn’t remember, and he was suddenly very tired. Distantly, he knew he should get inside and warm up but he couldn’t move. Even when he heard footsteps and a voice nearby. He felt his eyes close and accepted sleep.

“Sero!”

Teldryn’s eyes snapped open and adrenaline shot through him. He blinked dumbly at the very familiar face in front of him. That someone dragged him off the ground with considerable force and he felt an arm wrap around his torso. Everything was moving way too fast and he couldn’t keep up. The ground spun sickeningly as he was walked across the uneven stones. Where were they going? He felt a blast of warmth as a door opened and he nearly fell asleep on his feet. Actually, he might have. Just for a moment there. But whoever had his arm was unfazed and continued to half carry him up a set of stairs. After what felt like an eternity of focusing on how to manage steps, he was dropped onto a bed. He fell asleep instantly.


	13. Chapter 13

Teldryn woke up with a throbbing head and on a blanket way softer than the rented ones he’d been sleeping on. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Wood, fresh bread, the faint scent of his own soap. Lucia’s voice rang out through the floorboards.

He was in Breezehome, in Finja’s bed. Drooling on her pillows. The thought gave him a brief flash of guilt, but he ignored it and buried his face further into the downy pillow. His head hurt. He didn’t want to open his eyes, and he especially didn’t want to acknowledge the day ahead of him. 

“When is Mr. Teldryn going to wake up?”

“In 10 minutes I’m going dump a bucket of water over his head,” Lydia responded curtly.

Or, he could get up now. With a groan he sat up and felt the world list under him. He resisted the urge to heave and stood up slowly. Looking around blearily, he was surprised to see his things stacked neatly on top of one of the dressers. Moving carefully, he changed into fresh clothes. 

He made it down the stairs with minimal difficulty. Having his eyes open was a chore, but he wasn’t familiar enough with Breezehome to walk around blindly.

“Good morning, Mr. Teldryn!”

He grunted something vaguely like a greeting and dropped down onto the bench of the table, gripping his forehead.

The slapping sound of a water skin hitting the table made him look up. Lydia stood across from him, glaring.

“Er, good morning, Lydia. I don’t suppose you’re the one who brought me here?”

She crossed her arms, eyes like daggers.

“I was. I would have left you, but I doubt Finja would be pleased if you froze to death or got thrown in jail.”

A spike of rage shot up his spine and he grit his teeth. He swallowed down whatever nonsense he was going to spit out and instead busied his mouth with the water Lydia had given him. Azura, it felt so good on his dry tongue. The Housecarl went back to the food she had going over the fire, which Lucia had been watching while Teldryn was harassed. He drained the last of the water and propped his head up on his hand. His head was still pounding, but it should start to ease up soon. 

Loud voices filtered into the house and Lydia gave a glare at the offending wall. Teldryn would do the same if he didn’t currently have his eyes closed.

He felt so drained. Emotionally and physically. He just wanted to crawl back into Finja’s bed and sulk there. More than anything he wanted to crawl into Finja’s bed and have her already in it, hogging the blankets and ‘accidentally’ cuddling up to him. His breathing hitched. Stupid, stupid Finja! Running off alone like that to fight something so absurdly powerful, leaving everyone else behind to suffer without her. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to physically scrub the beginnings of grief from his mind. 

A couple other shouts leaked through the walls and- did he hear..?

A knock on the door made him and Lydia jump. The woman drew her sword and opened it. 

“The Dragonborn is back!”

Teldryn practically lept from his seat, barely keeping upright. A guard stood at the door, helmet off and a wild smile on her face. He saw Lucia light up and bounce excitedly from the corner of his eye.

“Where?”

“Dragonsreach, there’s a party startin-”

Teldryn pushed past her and broke into a dead sprint before the woman could finish her words. He wasn’t the only one heading up, and he weaved through townspeople excitedly heading towards the castle. He was out of breath before he even hit the stairs, but he heard wood rattle as she Shouted. The doors were open and he slipped through them, heaving his breath.

There she was, standing on top of a table in just her underclothes. A crowd had formed around her and she was acting out something dramatic, arms waving in a mock battle. Winded, Teldryn sat down in a chair and watched her performance. 

“-and again! JOOR ZAH FRUL!” she shouted into the rafters, which got her a wild cheer, “Down went Alduin! Mortal just for a moment, and within reach of our swords, we threw ourselves into battle!”

Teldryn felt himself smiling, relief and the beginnings of laughter making him giddy. Finja was here, she was perfectly fine. He watched with undisguised mirth as she finished her tale. If it had come from anyone else, nobody would believe her. It was too much. But if anyone were to travel to the afterlife, defeat a demigod dragon, and come back unscathed, it would be her. Finishing her tale, Finja stepped off the table and was immediately surrounded by smitten Nords and offered tankards. She took one of them politely and seemed to be looking for an escape. Teldryn took that as his que and began elbowing his way through the crowd. Fortunately some of them recognized him and moved out of the way. She was being bombarded with hugs and handshakes but spotted him amidst the crowd.

“Teldryn!”

Finally making it through the gauntlet, he stood by her side. All his grief still ached and as soon as he was close enough to touch her he was blindsided by a wash of emotion. For a moment he wasn’t certain if he wanted to hug or throttle her. Fortunately he managed to channel all that energy into his words.

“Took you fuckin’ long enough!”

She looked taken aback for a moment and then burst into laughter. 

“I slept for probably 16 hours once I got back. I didn’t mean to keep anyone waiting.”

Now that she mentioned it, Finja looked exhausted. There was the faint coloration of bags under her eyes and her forehead had a crease in it that hadn’t existed before she left. He opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted to leave, but was shouldered out of the way by some people wanting to talk to the Dragonborn. She masked her irritation well, and accepted gratitudes and the physical contact with relative grace. As soon as they left, she grabbed Teldryn’s hand and dragged them both over to a couple chairs. Somebody brought out a keg of mead, and cheers went all around. The two of them sat down side by side and Finja sighed.

“I’m still so fuckin’ tired. I probably shouldn’t have been Shouting just then.”

She takes a mindless sip of the mead she’d been given and slumps into her chair. 

“Do you want to leave?”

Shrugging, she took another sip.

“I kinda like the appreciation for once. They’ll go back to taking me for granted soon.”

Teldryn chuckled and watched as Lucia weaved her way through the crowd.

“Mama!” Lucia practically lept into Finja’s lap. The woman didn't seem to mind and hugged her adoptive daughter tightly. “I was worried.”

“Sorry, little one, I didn’t know it would take so long.”

Lydia joined them shortly after, and informed them that the Jarl called for food to be prepared in celebration, and reminded Lucia that she’d skipped lunch to run up here. Trusting that her mother wouldn’t disappear, the lure of food drew the girl away. As soon as she was out of reach, a young couple made their way to Finja, this time bearing a basket of potatoes as a gift. Teldryn only snickered as Finja tried and failed to politely reject the offer, but in the end she was left with the gift under her chair. It seemed to spark courage in others, and the potatoes were soon followed with flowers and berries and cloth and- by the Three, they were going to have to carry all this home. Finja gave him an exasperated look, and he just grinned back at her.

“I thought you wanted appreciation?”

She elbowed him playfully and then side eyed him.

“Can I convince you to get me some food?”

He gave her a look that pointedly said no, but she returned it with the subtlest of pouts. 

“I’m tired, and I know you’re glad to see me back.”

He gave her a playful glare.

“Not enough to get up,” he quipped, but stood with a groan anyways. As soon as he stepped away, she got swarmed by a bunch of nervous looking guys. Hah. That’s what she gets. It amused him even further that his presence made them more nervous than speaking to the vanquisher of Alduin. Idiot boys. With lazy steps, he made his way through the clumps of people eating and drinking. He wondered how many just came for the party and didn’t give two shits that Finja had just done something impossible. He found the table that servants were rushing to keep stocked and surveyed his options. Picking out some hunks of meat, an apple, and a slice of pie for Finja would probably cut it, and he grabbed something similar for himself. It took concentration to weave through all the people with his hands full, but he managed.

Finja was still entertaining a few young men when he got back, and he was tempted to scare them off. Finja looked up at him pleadingly. Yep, intervention time.

“You’re blocking my seat, kid. And the Dragonborn is too nice to tell you to fuck off.”

Finja stifled a laugh with her hand and watched as her fanboys scrambled out of his way. He handed her the plate and sat back down. The Dragonborn immediately began to scarf down her food, washing it down with mouthfuls of mead. He didn’t realize that he was watching her, amused, until she glanced over at him.

“What?” she managed, around a mouthful of pie.

“I almost forgot you were raised in a barn.”

A kick to the leg made him laugh. He didn’t realize how starving he was until he started eating, and he ended up inhaling it all just as fast. A servant came to take their plates from them, and Teldryn felt more than a little pleased by the treatment. 

Finja yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes drooped and the way she was nodding off made it hard to balance her head. Sighing, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let her rest her head more comfortably.

“Is this a new shirt?” she mumbled.

“Yes, I just bought it. Realized I only had two.”

Chuckling under another yawn, her eyes closed.

“We can stop by Solitude and buy you a whole new wardrobe if you want.”

“How often am I out of armor?”

She hummed in agreement. As, admittedly, kind of cute this was, it really wouldn't do for her to fall asleep on him. He'd have to wake her up eventually to go home. 

“That reminds me, I'm requesting we take a vacation.”

“Vacation..?”

“Yep. You, me, a fully stocked kitchen, lounging around and relaxing for a week.”

Finja took a deep breath, and seemed to be struggling to respond. 

“Sounds nice,” she breathed. Teldryn watched as she fell asleep right there. Great. Now he would have to wake her up, she would be annoyed with him, and he would feel bad and regret letting her fall asleep. ...She just looked so peaceful, and the weight of her leaning on him was comforting. 

Looking around, he saw Lydia eating at the table across from them. Amidst the group of people between them, he managed to catch Lydia's eyes. One look and the housecarl narrowed her eyes at him. Then she stood, took a glance to check on where Lucia was playing with Mila and Lars, then left to find someone. Teldryn wasn't entirely certain what she was doing, but hopefully it was relatively helpful. 

She came back with that Imperial steward, looking pleased with herself. 

“If you would wouldn't mind carrying her, we have a spare room here for the night.”

Nice going, Lydia. 

He nodded and carefully lifted his patron. She squirmed and grumbled, but didn't wake up. With a bit of amusement, he saw that some of her hair had been scorched shorter. Proventus lead them back behind the throne and through a few sets of doors. Some servants gave them curious looks.

The Steward opened a last set of doors to a rather nice looking room, and he wondered if it was for upper class guests. 

“I'm sure Finja will be grateful,” he murmured to the man, and gently laid the woman on the bed.

Proventus nodded. 

“She has done wonders for the morale of the city. I may not understand much about this Nord destiny of hers, but the effect she has on the citizens is clear. It's the least I can do.”

They bade each other goodbye, and Teldryn waited for the door close before tucking Finja in. She cuddled up nicely and looked absolutely dead to the world. 

It was… Still pretty early. He'd only crawled out of bed in the last few hours and was nowhere near tired. Unsure what to do with himself, and feeling a little exposed in his thin shirt, he made a decision. Stepping out of the room, he flagged down a guard. 

“Stand right here in front of this door. If you move an inch I'll kick the snot out of you.”

The guard nodded vigorously, and Teldryn left to grab his armor. 

__________

Fully armored, with his helmet on and sword by his side, Teldryn spent the next few hours reading in a chair by Finja’s bedside. Something felt intrinsically right, as he sat there with a purpose in mind and someone to weild a sword for. 

__________

He was blinking away sleep, book wobbling in his hands, when Finja woke up. She stretched and yawned, and Teldryn watched all the muscles in her arms and back tighten and relax. 

She looked around a little dazed before focusing on him. 

“Where are we?” she murmured. 

“Dragonsreach. You were out cold and I wasn't going to carry you across the city.”

She huffed a laugh and dragged her eyes over him. 

“Why are you sitting over there in you armor?”

“It's my job. And I'd barely woken up when you got back, I wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.” 

She seemed to accept that, and climbed out of bed. 

“I've gotta piss, and then we'll head back home.” 

__________

It was the dead of night. They walked slowly down the steps into the lower districts and appreciated how quiet and peaceful the city was at night. 

“I don't think I can describe the weight that's lifted off me, Tel.”

He glanced over at his friend, who was concentrating on her feet. 

“My destiny has been fulfilled. I can take a long vacation and stuff myself with pies and not even feel guilty.”

Her eyes met his, even through his goggles, and she gave him a slow smile. She still looked tired, but the line of tension in her shoulders that he’d never noticed was gone. 

“I'm taking you up on your request. But we're going to stay in Solitude. We're going to eat like royalty and sleep in late and then blow a bunch of gold on fancy clothes.”

Teldryn grinned, remembered he was wearing his helmet, and gave her an easy laugh instead. 

“Sounds like a deal.”

They made it to Breezehome, and found everyone ready for bed. Finja checked in on her daughter and Lydia before heading into her own room. Teldryn had to take off his armor before he could join, and missed most of the quiet conversation happening upstairs. 

“ -complete mess. Only stepped foot in the house because I carried him.”

He froze still but it seemed that it was the end of her statement. Shaking it off, he climbed the stairs to Finja’s room and was surprised to see her curled back up in bed. 

“Are you still tired?”

“I only woke up because I had to pee.”

Snorting a laugh, he settled in next to her, briefly fighting over the blanket.

When they closed their eyes, Teldryn fought off sleep long enough to soak in the feeling of Finja’s heat next to him. He took a long sigh, releasing all the stress from her disappearance, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof sorry for leaving it off here. there's little chance I'm gunna finish this so I'll just let ya know that they get drunk and make out in Solitude to piss off racists shortly after this
> 
> later they pick up Erandur, seduce him, and the three of them eventually retire together and raise Lucia and Alesan :')
> 
> I had a short sequel planned for Era and a very short third story that would address Tel and Era's relationship years after Finja dies but college MURDERED my muse for this and I genuinely don't know if I could get back into their heads enough to finish the series


End file.
